


Prompt Responses

by sunflowerseedsandscience



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 30,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8708773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerseedsandscience/pseuds/sunflowerseedsandscience
Summary: Prompts: "I'm sorry!  I thought that was your knee," "I didn't say you had to sit on my lap.  It was just a suggestion," and "First times are overrated.  Too many expectations."





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "I'm sorry! I thought that was your knee," "I didn't say you _had_ to sit on my lap. It was just a suggestion," and "First times are overrated. Too many expectations."

Mulder keeps his good arm around her shoulder for the entire walk through the hospital and out the front doors. As they near the taxi stand, he groans. Scully looks up at him, concerned.

“Your arm?”

“No,” Mulder says, shaking his head. "Our cars. They’re in the middle of nowhere in Maryland. It’s gonna cost a small fortune in cab fare to get them tomorrow.“ Scully chews her lip, thinking.

“I could ask my mom to drive us out there, maybe,” she says hesitantly. "But I was kind of hoping to put off seeing her until these-“ she indicates the scratches on her neck- "are healed. Between that and your arm being in a sling, she’s going to have questions I’m not prepared to answer.” Mulder looks thoughtful.

“We could have the Gunmen take us,” he suggests. "If you’re not averse to spending an hour on the road in the Mystery Machine.“ Scully wrinkles her nose.

"I think I was probably still in medical school when they last cleaned that thing,” she says. "But it’s better than explaining what happened tonight to my mother.“ Mulder nods in assent. "Will they mind us bothering them on New Year’s Day?”

“Nah,” says Mulder, unconcerned. "We’ll buy them breakfast to make up for it. They do the same thing every year: steak fajitas, beer, and pirated movies. Usually of the adult variety.“ 

"You speak as though you know from firsthand experience,” observes Scully, and Mulder grins, unashamed.

“I may have a standing invitation,” he says. He looks down at her, his smile lingering, some of his self-assurance gone. "I was hoping that maybe this year, I’d have other plans, though.“ Scully’s serene expression gives away nothing. She looks ahead, towards the line of taxis waiting on the curb.

"We should get you home,” she says. "You’re going to need more painkillers soon, and I don’t want you taking them until I’ve got you safely in your apartment for the night.“ Mulder’s heart skips a beat- she’s coming home with him. At least, initially.

They give the taxi stand their destination, and are directed to a cab near the front of the line. Scully helps Mulder get situated in the side nearest the curb, then goes around to the other side and climbs in. The cab pulls away, and Mulder leans his head back and closes his eyes, beginning to seriously feel the pain in his arm.

"Mulder,” hisses Scully to his left, and he opens his eyes and looks down at her. "There’s something sticky all over this seat.“ She’s up against the door, balanced on one hip, trying to make as little contact with the unidentified substance as possible. Mulder is momentarily amused- Dana Scully, slayer of zombies and slicer-and-dicer of all manner of disgusting things, is grossed out by what’s probably the remnants of a dropped ice cream cone. 

"You want to have him turn around and get a different cab?” he asks. She purses her lips.

“No,” she says. "I want to get you home as quickly as possible.“ She glances up at the driver, who is oblivious to their conversation. "I guess I could ask him to pull over and sit up front… but I really want to keep an eye on you.”

“You could sit on my lap,” he suggests. Scully’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.

“The painkillers you got at the hospital must be stronger than I thought, if you’re telling me to do that,” she remarks.

“I’m not _telling_ you to do anything,” Mulder says. "I didn’t say you _had_ to sit on my lap. It was just a suggestion.“ Scully bites her lip; then, with another glance, she gingerly lifts herself over the seat and climbs cautiously into his lap, trying hard not to brush against his arm in its sling. Once she’s situated, he slides his good arm around her. He tries to shift his injured arm further to the side so that she can lean against him, and his hand brushes her breast. She gasps sharply.

"I’m sorry!” he says, not sorry at all. "I thought that was your knee.“ This earns him a look, and she pointedly wiggles her knee, some ten inches’ distance from his hand. In the driver’s seat, the cabbie glances back and notices Scully’s change of position.

"Oh yeah, I think someone dropped their drink back there,” he calls through the open divider. "Sorry ‘bout that. I ain’t had time to clean it up.“ Scully spares the driver a glance that says all too clearly what she thinks of his time management skills, and continues trying to get comfortable. Once his sling is safely out of the way, though, she relaxes against him with a tired sigh.

"I’m exhausted,” she says, leaning her forehead against the side of his neck. "The moment you’re settled, I’m going to sleep.“ She lifts her head and looks at him, adorably uncertain all of a sudden. "Is it okay if I stay over at your apartment?” she asks. "I’d really like to keep an eye on you tonight.“ It’s impossible to tell, from her expression, whether she’s really asking because she’s concerned about his injury and wants to take care of him, or it she’s asking because…. His heart rate speeds up at the thought, and he wonders if she can feel it where she’s pressed against him. He swallows hard.

"Sure, Scully,” he says. Their faces are inches apart, and her gaze flickers to his mouth. She licks her lips, and he forgets how to breathe.

“So, how would you say we did?” Scully asks, in a husky voice he’s never heard from her before.

“With what?” he asks, just barely managing to keep his voice from cracking. She gives him a wicked smile and glances at his mouth again. If she does that again, he’s going to need to move her to keep from embarrassing himself. "Oh,“ he says hoarsely. "That.”

“It was our first,” she says, still in that throaty whisper that’s going to drive him crazy if she keeps it up. 

“First times are overrated,” he says, pretending a confidence he doesn’t feel. "Too many expectations.“

"Oh?” She’s moved almost imperceptibly closer.

“Definitely. The second time… now, _that’s_ where you can really feel the potential, if it’s there.” She draws back slightly, raising her eyebrows.

“ _If_ it’s there?” He nods, agreeing, as though there were any question at all, as though they were anything but seven years’ worth of potential, seven years of kinetic energy stored up and ready to erupt at the first real opportunity. And it’s clear, from the expectant smile hovering at the edge of Scully’s lips, that she thinks now is the opportunity. Before he can talk himself out of it, Mulder leans forward ever so slightly, closing the distance between them, and presses his lips to hers.

The kiss in the hospital hallway had been gentle, careful, chaste, and sweet. This kiss is every bit as sweet- it’s Scully, so he doesn’t think it could ever not be sweet- but the similarities end there. Scully kisses him with a passion that drives what little breath remains from his body, surging against him, winding her fingers into his hair. He feels a heady flush of warmth all over, he hears a buzzing in his ears, and he’s relatively certain it’s not the painkillers that are making him feel lightheaded. He wishes, badly, that both of his arms were uninjured and whole, so that he could hold her closer to himself.

In the front seat, the cabbie clears his throat pointedly, and Scully reluctantly draws away from him. She glances at the front seat, her cheeks red, and Mulder strongly suspects she’d forgotten the cabbie was even there. When she looks back at him, her eyes are sparkling, playful. He doesn’t think she’s ever looked more beautiful to him than she does in this moment.

“So?” she asks. "How did we do?“ He purses his lips as though in thought.

"Difficult to say,” he says. "I think I might need a third try to really have an informed opinion.“ She rolls her eyes at him.

"For that,” she says, “you’re going to need to wait until we get to your apartment.”

Mulder thinks that this cab ride may well be the longest he’s ever had in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "Oh, and you’re really living it up, with your no-dressing salads and your ten P.M. bedtime, aren’t you?" and "It’s not supposed to fit like that."

Scully wakes to a quiet whimpering from the corner of her bedroom. She's just starting to reach for her bedside light when she remembers what the baby book says: no bright lights for nighttime feedings or diaper changes, to avoid the baby waking up any more than he absolutely has to, thus enforcing his natural circadian rhythm. She's feeling around on the floor by her bed for her slippers when William whimpers again... but this time, it's immediately followed by a soft voice.

"Hey, none of that," Mulder whispers tenderly, just as he has every time the baby's started fussing in the past two weeks. Scully's trying hard not to take it personally that, barring the times William is hungry, Mulder seems to be better at soothing the baby than she is. "I know I don't have what you're after, Buddy, but what do you say we get you all cleaned up before we wake your mom, okay?" Scully smiles softly and lies back down against the headboard, waiting patiently for Mulder to finish changing William's diaper and bring him to her to feed.

William gives a long, plaintive cry, and Mulder shushes him. Scully hears the sound of the dirty diaper being deposited in the diaper pail, and she sleepily hopes that Mulder got the clean one on correctly. There's been one incident of an improperly-fastened tab causing a disaster of epic proportions, and she'd rather not have a repeat performance of that, especially not on her bed, with its clean sheets that just came out of the wash this afternoon. 

"Hang on, Will," Mulder whispers. "I can't get this thing snapped back up if you don't stop wiggling." A pause, then a quiet sound of triumph from Mulder, and another whimper from William. "Okay, Buddy," says Mulder, and in the dim light from the window, Scully sees him carefully lifting William from the changing table and cradling him in his arms. "Time for a midnight snack, okay?" He turns to the bed, and smiles when he sees Scully watching him.

"I must have slept right through him crying," she says, as Mulder approaches.

"Nah, I was awake," he says. He bends and places the infant in her arms, then crosses to the empty side of the bed and stretches out. "I got to him before he cranked it up to top volume."

"I'm sure the neighbors appreciate that," Scully says. She unbuttons her pajama top and brings William to her breast, getting him latched on with relative ease, compared to the fumbling the poor baby had had to endure for the first few days of his life. Mulder watches in fascination as his son nurses, reaching out to stroke his downy head. He looks up, sees Scully watching him, and smiles softly at her.

"If you'd told me a year ago that one day, I'd find your breasts even more amazing than I already did, I never would have believed it," he comments, and she rolls her eyes. Looking back down at William, her glance catches on the row of buttons down his front and down the insides of his legs.

"Mulder, what on earth did you do to his sleeper?" she asks. "It's not supposed to fit like that." Mulder squints at the sleeper in the dark.

"Like what?" he asks.

"The buttons, Mulder," she says. "You missed half the buttons on the front, and somehow or other, you've managed to snap his legs together."

"That thing has at least fifty snaps, Scully," Mulder protests. "At this hour, with the room this dark, you should just be impressed I managed to get his arms in his sleeves and his legs in his pants, instead of the other way around." 

"Can you fix it, please?" Scully asks. "I'd need both hands to do it." Mulder crawls across the bed and, crouching next to her, carefully corrects the snaps on William's pajamas, then settles down against the headboard, leaning against Scully's shoulder. She rests her cheek on the top of his head.

"I've been thinking, Scully," he says, after a moment. "Wouldn't it be better, easier for you, if I were here to do this every time William wakes up in the middle of the night? Wouldn't you get more sleep that way?"

"Probably," says Scully warily. "Are you suggesting you stay here every night?"

"Well...." Mulder looks nervous, which Scully can't help but find adorable. "There's not much point to me going home during the day, is there? If I'm already here all night?"

"Mulder," asks Scully, "are you asking me if you can move in?"

"Look at it this way, Scully," says Mulder, sitting up, his face earnest. "I hardly need sleep anyway, so I'm the perfect person to help you take care of a newborn. I can change Will's diaper and bring him to you, just like tonight, and when he gets bigger and you start using that scary-looking pump in the hall closet, I can even give him a bottle so you don't have to wake up at all. I can hang out with him during the day if you need to nap or run an errand, or I can run your errands for you, or... or whatever you need." He gives her a brash, teasing grin. "Plus, somebody's gonna have to be around to teach the kid to let loose and party once in awhile."

"Have you done much partying lately, Mulder?" asks Scully, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, and you’re really living it up, with your no-dressing salads and your ten P.M. bedtime, aren’t you?" quips Mulder, and she glares at him.

"I'm almost certain the ranch dressing I put on my salad for lunch on Monday was directly responsible for the marathon screaming we endured that night," she says. "It clearly upset his stomach. And I'm only going to bed early because _he's_ going to bed early, and I need as much sleep as possible."

"But that's exactly what I mean, Scully," says Mulder. "You'll get more sleep if I'm here, sharing the responsibilities. And besides...." His gaze softens as he looks back and forth between her and William. "I want to be around you guys. I miss you both whenever I go back to my apartment." He reaches out and strokes Scully's cheek tenderly. "I feel like this is where I'm supposed to be. With you. You guys are my family, Scully, and I don't want to miss a single second of this."

Scully feels as though her heart might burst, just from the way he's looking at her. At _both_ of them. He'd been gone for so long, and she'd spent months believing him dead, lost to her forever... and then her joy at his survival had turned into pain and worry when he hadn't known how to act around her, how to handle his impending fatherhood.

The way he's looking at them now, all of that fear and uncertainty might as well never have happened. 

William has finished feeding, and Scully buttons up her shirt and stands, propping the baby over her shoulder to burp him. She crosses the bedroom and settles him into his bassinet, then turns to look at Mulder, still sitting on the bed, watching her anxiously.

"So what do you think?" he asks.

"I think...." She smiles. "I think we'll need to rearrange the living room a little if we want to make room for your fish." Mulder's face breaks out in a wide, beaming grin, and he vaults up off of the bed and strides over to the bassinet to wrap her in his arms.

"Your fish, too, now," he says. "I'm more than willing to share custody." Scully laughs. Together, they turn to the bassinet, looking down at William, who has drifted off to sleep again. "Look at him, Scully," Mulder whispers, squeezing her to himself and resting his cheek on the top of her head. "Look at what we did."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "It’s cute that you think you need an excuse to hold my hand," and "Maybe you could’ve worn something less memorable?"

The assignment hadn't specified that they were supposed to be pretending to be on a date... but it had been heavily implied, and so Scully asks Mulder to pick her up at her apartment so that they can arrive in the same car. He gets there early- for once- and lets himself in. When Scully finally leaves her bedroom, her hair having given her more resistance than usual, he's kicked back on her couch, his feet in their dress shoes propped up on the coffee table as he flicks through the channels on her TV.

"Mulder," she sighs, "would you mind not putting your feet on my furniture, please?"

"My shoes are clean, Scully," he says, but he removes them all the same. "It's not like I wear these that...." His voice drops off mid-sentence as he looks up at her. "...often." She can see his adam's apple bob as he swallows hard. "You look nice," he says, his voice cracking on the final word. She smiles.

"Thanks," she says. The black dress, with its halter top, its plunging neckline, and its slit in the skirt that goes nearly to her hip, had been an impulse buy over a year ago, and has since been languishing in the back of her closet, next to two or three other pieces of neglected evening wear. She can't help but laugh at the fact that, while Mulder's the one giving her the opportunity to wear it, it's not, as she'd once hoped, because he's taking her out for dinner and dancing.

Well... he _is_... in a manner of speaking. Her fantasy, however, didn't involve their being backup for a high-profile arrest, and it definitely did not involve Walter Skinner positioning himself in the restaurant to observe the proceedings and step in if things get out of hand.

Scully turns to collect her coat and purse, and as Mulder gets a glimpse of the back of her dress- or, more accurately, the near-total lack thereof- she hears him gasp. "Mulder," she says, rolling her eyes, "it's not like you haven't seen it all before. _Far_ more than this dress shows." She turns back to him, her eyebrow cocked. "Less than two days ago, as a matter of fact."

"That's not the same thing," he says, standing and retrieving his own dress coat from the back of a chair. "It's one thing to see you totally naked. It's a great thing, of course," he adds as Scully's eyes narrow. "But to see everything hinted at like this, knowing there's a chance it might eventually be revealed... _especially_ when I know exactly how spectacular what's hidden really is...." He shakes his head. "It's the most erotic thing in the world, Scully. You can't imagine." Scully feels a flush climbing up her cheeks and spreading over her chest. She smiles softly.

"Behave yourself tonight," she advises Mulder, "and I'd say there's more than a chance it's eventually going to be revealed."

The restaurant is fancy, far nicer than anyplace Scully would ever have cause to go to. She and Mulder are in a sleek, black Mercedes, provided by the bureau, because to pull up in Mulder's beat-up Taurus would practically broadcast that they don't belong here. Mulder gets out, then crosses to hand the keys to the attendant, and opens Scully's door, taking her hand and helping her climb out. Her stiletto heel catches in the cobblestone drive, but Mulder catches her arm, and she stays on her feet. She takes his hand in hers.

"We're supposed to be a couple on a romantic date," she whispers to Mulder, as he raises his eyebrows at her. "We should try to look like it."

"I wasn't complaining," he replies, grinning. "But it’s cute that you think you need an excuse to hold my hand. "

They give their covernames to the maitre d' and are shown to their seats in the corner of the room, their table having been selected ahead of time for its vantage point. Scully spies Skinner at the bar, but he gives no sign he's seen them.

"You think we'll actually be here long enough to eat a full meal, dessert and all?" Mulder mumbles to her as he scans the menu. "The bureau's picking up the tab... it'd be a shame not to get as much much mileage out of that as we can."

"Let's order with the assumption that we'll get to eat whatever it is," says Scully. She's practically drooling over the descriptions of some of the dishes. "I wish we could order wine with this... but something tells me Skinner would drag us both out of here by the ear if he saw any alcohol heading towards this table while we're on the job."

As Mulder gives the waiter their orders, Scully scans the dining room. She spots the suspect at a table along the dance floor, sitting with the undercover agent she knows is recording his every word. Once he's got the confirmation he needs, the agent will signal to the others positioned around the dining room, and the arrest will be made.

Scully catches Skinner's eye, and the AD gives a tiny, almost imperceptible jerk of his head, in the direction of the dance floor. Scully inclines her head in Mulder's direction, and Skinner nods.

"I think Skinner wants us to dance, so that we're closer to the suspect when the arrest comes," she says to Mulder, who raises his eyebrows.

"Scully, if you want to cut a rug with me, all you have to do is ask," says Mulder. "You don't need the job as an excuse."

" _Mulder_ ," she hisses, her face reddening. "Skinner's watching. Will you just come on?" He gives her a cocky grin and stands, extending his hand, which she takes, and together, they wind their way through the tables towards the dance floor.

Scully is dimly aware of heads turning as she passes, and she begins to feel uncomfortable. Pools and beaches aside, she can't remember the last time she's shown this much skin in public.

"What's wrong?" Mulder asks, catching sight of her face as he turns to her and slides an arm around her waist, swaying her gently to the music.

"Everyone's staring at me," she says. "I'm not used to it."

"I don't see how you wouldn't be," murmurs Mulder, dropping his head far enough to speak directly into her ear. 

"Mulder," she sighs, "Can you please be serious? If the suspect has anyone keeping watch in the dining room, and they get out of here once he's arrested, I don't want them to remember me or remember what I look like."

 "Maybe you could’ve worn something less memorable?" Mulder suggests, running his fingers up and down her spine before placing his hand flat against the exposed small of her back, spanning the entire width of her hips with his fingers. She inhales sharply... and over Mulder's shoulder, she catches sight of Skinner, watching them dancing closely with an expression that says, all too clearly, _I knew it._

Before Scully can suggest to Mulder that they should maybe step back a bit, Skinner jumps to his feet. Scully turns quickly to see the undercover agent handcuffing the suspect, reading him his rights, and before there's time to react, the suspect is being led away. All around the restaurant, other undercover agents are standing, preparing to leave. It's the fastest, most efficient arrest Scully can remember seeing in a very long time.

Skinner approaches them, tucking his cell phone into his pocket, having just informed the agents outside that it's over.

"You don't need to stick around, agents," he tells them. "We're sending everyone who was borrowed from other departments home. The agents assigned to the case can handle it from here." 

"Yes, Sir," says Mulder. He leads Scully back to the table... but as she picks up her purse, preparing to leave, Mulder pulls out his chair and sits back down.

"Mulder, what are you doing?" she asks. "The bureau's not going to pay for this meal if the suspect was apprehended before it was served."

"The bureau won't need to pay for it, Scully," he replies. "I will." Scully gapes at him.

"Mulder, this is one of the most expensive restaurants in DC," she says. "I appreciate the gesture but-"

"But what?" Mulder asks. "You don't think you deserve a fancy dinner every now and then?" He shakes his napkin out and places it on his lap, then stretches his legs out underneath the table, pushing on her chair until it's far back enough for her to sit down. "Scully, you deserve to eat like this every night of the week. I know I haven't taken you out yet- not properly, anyway- but it's only been a couple of weeks. Now... will you sit down? The waiter's headed this way. He probably thinks you're getting ready to storm out or complain about his service or something." Reluctantly, Scully takes her seat, just as the waiter arrives at their table.

"Is something wrong, Ma'am?" he asks. "Can I bring you anything while you wait for your meal?" Scully glances at Mulder, who raises his eyebrows at her expectantly... and finally, she looks back up at the waiter and smiles.

"Yes, actually," she says. "My date and I would like to see the wine list."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to a prompt response that can be found in my Octoberficfest 2016 collection.
> 
> Prompt: "How many of those have you broken this year?"

Delilah's is not a shop that Mulder has ever had any reason to enter. And while it's certainly caught his attention as he's driven by in the past, he's never had cause to imagine Scully, _his_ Scully, his straightlaced and by-the-book partner, entering such an establishment, either.

Of course, that had been before he'd walked in on her masturbating and had caused her, in her shock and embarrassment, to accidentally fling her vibrator across her motel room and into the wall, destroying it. He'd promised to buy her a new one, and she'd insisted she be present to approve his choice.

And so here he is, standing on the sidewalk in front of Delilah's, waiting, unwilling to go inside on his own, and equally apprehensive about going inside with Scully. He's terrified that she knows, somehow, that the split-second glimpse he'd gotten of her, naked and pleasuring herself, has been the fodder for nearly every masturbatory fantasy he's had since then. In truth, she's long been the subject of his fantasies... but now, he has a visual to accompany what had hitherto been a vivid mental picture of his own creation.

Mulder turns away from the fully-stocked display window to see Scully striding towards him, a no-nonsense expression on her face that he recognizes instantly. He's seen it during a hundred cases with her, and it translates roughly to, "Let's get in, get it done, and get out as quickly as possible." The knot of nervousness in his stomach loosens slightly; she's clearly almost as uncomfortable with this as he is.

"I was starting to think you weren't showing," he says as she reaches him.

"Sorry," Scully says. "I was having lunch with my mom, and... well, I didn't want to explain to her why I was meeting you here, so I had her drop me off a couple of blocks away."

"Smart move," Mulder says. "I know your mom likes me and all, but I don't think she'd be too thrilled with the idea of me buying you a vibrator."

"You're _replacing_ my vibrator," Scully corrects him, a flush already spreading over her cheeks. "Which, again, is not really a conversation I want to have with my mother." She nods towards the store. "Shall we?"

"After you," says Mulder, holding the door open for her.

Delilah's, Mulder notes, caters to a very broad range of tastes and inclinations, from the most vanilla to the most seriously kinky. Scully has clearly been here before, though, because she makes a beeline for a space on the wall dedicated to what appear to be plain, simple, straightforward vibrators, without any of the complicated (and sometimes frightening-looking) attachments sported by some of the others. She surveys the selection carefully, her lips pursed in thought.

Mulder would give anything to know exactly what's going through her mind right now.

A salesgirl approaches them, smiling brightly. "Can I help you find anything today?" she asks.

"No, we're just looking, thanks," Scully says, without taking her eyes from the display.

"Okay, well, let me know if you need help finding anything," says the girl. "We have a really great selection for couples, if you'd like me to show you." Scully turns a brilliant shade of magenta.

"That's okay," she replies. "Thanks, though."

"You sure, Scully?" whispers Mulder, after the salesgirl has left. "I hear some BDSM practices can be great for strengthening communication between partners." She spares him a withering look, then returns to browsing. She picks up a small, thin, purple vibrator, no more than four inches in length, and checks the price. 

"This is pretty similar to the old one," she remarks. "But I don't know... that one broke kind of easily, and so did the one before it."

"The one before it?" Mulder repeats. "Jesus, Scully, how many of those have you broken this year?" She glares at him again.

"The one before broke years ago," she says. "And _I_ didn't break the last one; _you_ did."

"I still dispute that," he says. "I'm not the one who hurled it at the wall."

"It was a reflexive response, Mulder," Scully says. "How do you think _you_ would respond if I barged in on you while you were... you know?"

"Well, first off, I wouldn't be using any sort of battery-operated device, and I'm unlikely to throw my own hand across the room. And second, I didn't 'barge in' on you. I knocked. You just didn't hear me." Scully crosses her arms, frowning.

"Look, Mulder, if you don't want to do this-"

"Did I say that? I'm here, aren't I? Listen, I'll admit, I should have waited for you to invite me in after I knocked, but I was anxious to tell you about the sheriff's phone call, and I honestly never expected... that." She looks down, away from him. "And you don't have to pick out a cheap little one, either, Scully. If you want something fancier, that's fine with me." The corner of Scully's mouth twitches slightly. "What?"

"'A cheap little one,'" she repeats back to him. "Guys always think it's about size, don't they?" She grins and shakes her head. "The one that broke was just the one I took on the road, Mulder. It didn't need to be big and fancy."

"So it was your... travel vibrator?" He's thoroughly mystified. "I've heard of travel-sized toiletries and toothbrushes, but never a travel-sized sex toy." Something occurs to him. "Wait... so that means you have another one at home?" She glances up at him, embarrassed again, and nods. "More than one?" Another nod. "How many?"

"None of your business," she snaps.

"Hey, sorry," he says, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'm just curious. The solo sexual habits of the average American woman aren't something I'm that familiar with." He scans the selection of vibrators critically. "But listen, Scully, out-of-town cases are typically pretty stressful, aren't they?"

"With you? Always," she says, smiling wryly.

"So why go for something simple? With what we go through, you deserve all the stress relief you can get." His eyes fall on something that looks like a pair of unequally-sized rabbit ears, curving in towards each other. He takes it down off the wall and flips it over, reading the description on the box. "Look, this one has seven different speeds and settings, including three that 'realistically mimic the feel of oral sex.'" He whistles, impressed. "Why can't they make something that does that for guys?" He glances down at her to find she's the brightest shade of red so far. He knows this is awkward for her, that she's uncomfortable... but he can't resist tormenting her just a little more. "What's wrong, Scully?" he asks.

"I'm fine, Mulder," she says, not meeting his eye.

"Do you not like oral sex?"

"Of course I do," she snaps. He knows the kind thing to do would be to back off, but he can't help it. It's just too easy to wind her up.

"Well, what's the problem, then?"

"That one's too expensive, Mulder," she says. "I told you, I don't need something that fancy."

"What if I _want_ to buy you something that fancy, Scully?" he asks. 

"Why?" _So you'll think of me when you use it_ , he wants to say, but something tells him that this would not be well-received at the moment. Instead, he just shrugs.

"Because you're my friend," he says. "And because I'm sorry about what happened to your old one, and I feel bad for embarrassing you. Plus," he elbows her playfully, grinning, "I'm well aware that having a relaxed and happy Scully is definitely in my best interests." She smiles reluctantly.

"Well, most of the stress I experience on the road can be traced back to you," she says. "Okay, I guess. Get that one." He smiles broadly.

"You need anything else, while we're here?" he asks. "They've got some videos over there by the counter. You want to pick something out for visual stimulation?" For some reason, she won't meet his eyes.

"No, thanks," she says. "I've got enough material in my head if I need it. Feel free to grab something for yourself, though, if you want." He desperately wants to ask what sorts of scenes the material in her head features, but that would be pushing things a bit too far.

"Nah, I'm good," he says. "I've got a pretty decent selection already, as I'm sure you're well aware. Anytime you want to borrow something, Scully, you just say the word." She sighs.

"Mulder," she says, quietly, "I know you like to joke about this, but... it makes me uncomfortable, talking about it with you, okay?"

"Yeah, I'm kinda getting that feeling," he says. "But listen, Scully... you don't need to be, okay? What happened in the motel, what I saw, all of this... it doesn't change my opinion of you. I don't think you're any less capable or any less of a professional just because you have a normal, healthy sex drive." 

"I didn't think it did change your opinion of me," she says. "That's not why it makes me uncomfortable."

"Then why?" She sighs and looks away.

"This isn't really the place for this conversation," she says. He reaches out and lays a finger alongside her chin, gently turning her back to face him.

“Scully, you can talk to me,” he says. He thinks he may be getting the idea, but it might also just be wishful thinking on his part.

“Not about this, I can’t,” she protests.

“Yes, about this,” he insists. “About anything. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to hold back.” He swallows and decides to take the plunge. The situation, after all, could not get much more awkward. “Especially not when I really, really don’t want you to hold back at all.” It takes a moment for his words to sink in... and when they do, her blue eyes open wider than he’s ever seen before. “So how about I go and pay for this, and we can go somewhere that we can have this conversation properly?” Eyes still the size of saucers, she nods.

“Okay,” she whispers, and he leaves her waiting there as he heads to the register.

He makes sure to tuck the receipt away somewhere safe. If this conversation goes as well as he’s hoping it will, he thinks there’s an excellent chance that this purchase will no longer be necessary.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows the previous chapter.
> 
> Prompt: "Most of the time, I feel like I can’t think about anything else."

It's maybe not the most awkward car ride Scully has ever experienced in her life- that honor goes to the time Ahab drove her home after discovering her topless on the beach at night with her high school boyfriend- but this is a close second. Mulder, bless him, is doing his very best to play it cool, whistling as he drives, shooting her the occasional reassuring smile. His right arm rests on the center console, palm facing up, an open invitation she's not sure she's brave enough to accept.

On the floor is the bag containing his purchase from Delilah's. It thumps against her leg with every sudden motion of the car.

He's said that he doesn't want her to hold back, not at all. But how did he mean it? Did he mean he doesn't want her to hold back on telling him what her fantasies are? Or does he not want her to hold back when it comes to sex in general? She can't decide which idea she's more apprehensive about. Taking that final leap with Mulder, crossing over that line they've been dancing around for ages, is scary, to be sure. But telling him her most secret desires, laying herself emotionally bare before him? That, for her, is the very definition of terror.

"You all right, Scully?" Mulder asks, and she jumps, startled.

"I'm fine," she says automatically. He glances over at her, and his eyes are kind.

"I meant what I said, Scully," he says. "Nothing you could tell me would make me think less of you." His smile is gentle and honest, and she knows, at least on some level, that he's telling the truth. She has no doubts about his attraction to her- she hasn't for some time- but still, discussing her fantasies isn't something she's felt comfortable doing with any man, ever. Including men she's been intimate with.

"Your place or mine?" Mulder asks, as he stops at an intersection to turn off of the street Delilah's is on. Scully thinks it over. If they go to his place, she'll have the option of escaping if things become more than she can handle, whereas it could be more difficult to forcibly evict Mulder from her apartment. She glances at Mulder, who is waiting patiently for her response. His hand still lies, palm-up, on the center console. She reaches over and slips her fingers into his.

"My place," she says. Mulder grins, gives her hand a reassuring squeeze, and turns left.

Mulder carries the Delilah's bag into her building without discussion. Scully holds her breath the entire walk to her door, imagining what her neighbors will likely assume if they notice her bringing home a man carrying purchases from a reasonably well-known sex shop. She wishes he wouldn't swing the bag around quite so casually.

As soon as they're inside, she takes the bag from him and stashes it in her coat closet.

"That's an interesting place to store it," remarks Mulder, grinning mischievously. "Is that where you keep the rest of your collection?" He starts to open the coat closet, but Scully reaches past him and slams it shut again.

"Of course not," she snaps. "I'm just putting it there for now, okay?"

"Okay, okay," he says, hands up in surrender. He heads for the kitchen. "Want me to open a bottle of wine?"

"Mulder, it's two o'clock in the afternoon," says Scully.

"I know," he says. "But you look a little nervous, Scully. I thought you might like a little liquid courage." Scully contemplates this for a moment; then, with a decisive nod, she goes to the counter and selects a bottle of red wine, pouring them both a glass. She carries hers to the couch and sits down, and Mulder follows her lead. He looks at her expectantly for a moment. Scully opens her mouth to speak....

...and nothing comes out.

She can't do this. She just doesn't have it in her. Mulder's eyes are kind, reassuring, and the look he's giving her is one that's always set her at ease, but this is different. It's not even the sexual nature of the conversation that's got her stomach in knots, at this point. It's the fact that most of her fantasies- okay, _all_ of them at this point- involve _him._

"If you want," Mulder says, without a trace of teasing in his voice, "I can go first. Will that help?" She hesitates. She's all but certain that Mulder's fantasies- or at least the ones he's about to share with her- are going involve her in some way... but there's always a chance they won't. How humiliating would it be for her to tell him, in detail, some of the ways she's imagined him taking her, only to have his own version involve the nameless women from his video collection?

"Yeah," she whispers. "You go first." Mulder nods decisively and takes a deep pull from his wineglass.

"I've had the time to imagine countless scenarios," he says, looking her directly in the eyes. "But my all-time favorite... it has to be the office." Scully raises her eyebrows.

"Our office?" He nods.

"The same," he says. "And it varies, depending on how... how dominant I'm feeling." Scully's mouth goes dry, in spite of the wine.

"Dominant?"

"Yeah," he says. "Or... I guess you could say selfish." She bites her lip, thinking.

"Start with the ones where you're more... selfish," she says quietly. "More... _dominant._ "

"Well... in that one, I'm sitting at the desk, working on something, some file, and you're leaning against the desk next to me."

" _I_ am?" Her voice is almost inaudible. She'd all but known... but even so, the confirmation sends a flood of warmth all through her. Mulder smiles.

"Yeah, you," he says. "Who'd you think I've been fantasizing about?" She blushes and ducks her head. "Anyway... there's some conversation, never anything specific, but that part's not important, of course. And then... at some point... you give me this pointed look, and you say, 'You look tense, Mulder. Let me help you relieve some of that stress.'" At this point, Scully can't help it. She lets out a loud snort of laughter.

"Is that a line women ever use in real life, Mulder?" she asks. "Outside of your video collection?" Mulder grins sheepishly.

"Hey, don't knock my fantasy, Scully," he says. "Anyway, you push my desk chair back and crouch down in front of me, and you unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants, and you reach in and take my-"

"Yes, I think I see where this is going," says Scully quickly. She feels so hot that she thinks her entire body may be flushing. Mulder grins unabashedly.

"Basically, you give me the best head I've ever had in my life," he says. "That's how my more selfish fantasy starts out. Though, really... I'd probably enjoy the way the other version starts just as much, if I'm being honest."

"How...." Scully licks her lips, drinks more of her wine. "How does that one start?"

"In that one," says Mulder, leaning slightly closer, "It starts the same, with you leaning up against my desk, not quite sitting on it, but close... but in this version, _I'm_ the one who ends up on my knees in front of _you._ " Scully can't keep from inhaling sharply. She feels a flood of wet warmth between her thighs, and she shifts uncomfortably on the sofa. "You're wearing a skirt, and I push it up around your hips and find you've got nothing on underneath it... and I just go to town, Scully. I bury my face between your legs and eat your pussy like I'm starved for it."

" _Mulder!_ " she exclaims.

"What?" he asks innocently. "Given the opportunity, I'm pretty sure that's exactly how I'd do it. But anyway... both fantasies kind of merge at the point. Basically, I sweep my desk totally clear- or you do, depending on my mood- and either I lay you down on top of it or I turn you around over it and take you from behind."

"Depending on your mood." She can barely look at him.

"You got it." He drinks more of his wine and settles back on the sofa. "So that's me. How about you, Scully?" 

"I... um...." She looks down at her wineglass and notices that it's nearly empty. "I need more wine first, okay?" He nods, smiling encouragingly. She goes back to the kitchen and refills her glass, then stands at the counter, taking slow, deep, even breaths, trying desperately to calm herself down. _It's Mulder,_ she reminds herself sternly. _You trust him more than anyone else in the world. And besides, he's just told you, in no uncertain terms, that you're not the only one who's been fantasizing about the two of you._

Mulder hasn't moved when she returns to the living room and takes her seat beside him again. He gives her the same reassuring look he gave her in the car, the look that reminds her, as clearly as if he'd spoken out loud, that she never has to censor what she tells him, never has to worry that he'll judge her for what she says.

"In mine," she begins, her voice soft, her eyes fixed firmly on the coffee table, "we're driving, on a rural road, late at night."

"On a case?" Mulder asks.

"Yeah," she says. "We're on our way somewhere in the middle of the night, and the rental car breaks down. You get out of the car and go around the front and open the hood, but you can't figure out what's wrong, so you put the hood back down. You... um...." She takes a long swallow of her wine. "You start getting sweaty, so... you take off your shirt." She glances at Mulder just long enough to see that he's grinning. "And there are words... we talk... but like you said, what we say isn't really important. You... you kiss me... and you press me up against the front bumper... and I can feel how much you want me."

Scully feels Mulder's fingers on her chin, gently turning her to face him. The teasing expression is gone from his face, and his eyes are dark with lust. She realizes with a jolt that he's looking at her exactly the same way he does in her imagination.

Suddenly, she feels much more into this.

"Once I feel that, I can't hold back any longer, and neither can you," she says, her voice stronger now. "You turn me around, face me towards the car." Mulder licks his lip and leans in closer. "You try to undo my skirt, but you can't find the clasp... so you shove it up towards my hips, but you grab it too hard and you tear it." She can't look away from his eyes. "I put my hands flat on the hood of the car and spread my legs apart. You pull my underwear off... and take me by the hips, and you fuck me from behind." Mulder closes his eyes and groans.

"Hard?"

" _So_ hard." Mulder opens his eyes, his pupils completely dilated. 

"Scully," he says, his voice hoarse, "Anytime you want to act that fantasy out, you just say the word." She blushes and looks down. “I wouldn’t mind acting it out now, but the nearest rural road is at least an hour away, and I don’t think your neighbors would appreciate us acting it out on your car out front.” Scully laughs.  
“No, probably not,” she says. She glances back up at Mulder to see he’s looking thoughtful. “What?”

“I have another fantasy,” he says, his voice tentative, almost nervous. “It’s... it’s a new one.” Scully raises her eyebrows.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It... it takes place in a motel room.” Scully thinks she sees where this is going, and she shivers slightly in anticipation. Mulder glances towards the coat closet, then back at Scully. “And it’s been dominating my thoughts for weeks now. Most of the time, I feel like I can’t think about anything else.”

“Mulder,” whispers Scully, not quite certain where her courage is coming from, “do you want to tell me this fantasy... or show me?” Mulder takes one more long swallow of wine, then grabs Scully’s glass from her and puts them both down on the coffee table. He takes her by the hand and all but drags her to her bedroom, stopping at the coat closet to grab the bag from Delilah’s on the way.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final part of the Saga of the Broken Vibrator. I should probably extract all four parts and group them together as a separate fic....
> 
> Prompts: "Do you have any concern whatsover for the state of my neck?" and "I know it’s technically inappropriate, but I really don’t care."

Mulder, to Scully’s everlasting shock and surprise, becomes shy and uncertain the moment he has her in her bedroom.

“Scully, I feel like maybe I’ve pushed you into this,” he says. "I feel like I’ve been presumptuous, and I’ve made you admit to things you might not have been ready to tell me, and now I’ve got you in here and I’m a little worried that maybe I’ve pressured you into it.“ Scully finds the way he ducks his head and stares at his feet to be incredibly endearing. She smiles and walks towards him.

"Mulder,” she says, “maybe you _did_ push me into admitting that I want this, but I’d say it was an overdue admission, wouldn’t you?” She takes the hand not holding the bag from Delilah’s and presses his fingers softly to her lips, then gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Now why don’t you give me that bag?“ He hands it to her wordlessly, and she pulls out his earlier purchase and removes it from its packaging.

"Do you… um… does it need batteries?” Mulder peers at it over her shoulder.

“Nope,” she replies. "This baby plugs in to charge, and I’m willing to bet….“ She pushes a button at the base, and the vibrator buzzes to life. Mulder jumps about a foot and she laughs, turning it back off again. "I’ve found most rechargeable electronics are sold at least partially charged, even if the packaging advises you to charge it before you use it.”

“Do you have a lot of rechargeable… um… toys?” Mulder asks, intrigued.

“That applies to _all_ electronics,” she says. Silence falls between them, and while it’s not quite awkward, there’s definitely a palpable tension in the air. "So… how exactly do you want to do this, Mulder? It’s your fantasy, after all.“ Mulder gives her a look.

"I think you know exactly what I have in mind, Scully,” he says.

“The broad strokes, yes,” she says, stepping closer to him. "But not the details. I’m assuming it begins the same way it did in the motel room?“ He nods. "So… do you want to wait outside while I… get started?” She moves closer still, close enough that they’ll be pressed together if they both take a deep breath. Mulder’s eyes darken again and he bites his lip. "Or would you rather be in here, with me?“

"I have no idea, Scully, but if I don’t kiss you right this second, I’m gonna die,” says Mulder in a rush, and before Scully can respond he gathers her into his arms and presses his lips to hers. She’s lost, instantly, in a rush of heat and sensations, the sweet taste of his mouth and the scent of his aftershave in her nose, his hands pressing urgently into the small of her back, his fingers dipping daringly down, below her hips, to the upper swell of her ass. His tongue plunders her mouth as he steals her breath, holding her so tight that she feels lightheaded.

This is more than just a kiss. He is taking possession of her.

She wants badly for it to continue, wants it more than she’s ever wanted anything… but as tall as he is, with her wearing her casual weekend flats instead of heels, her head is thrown back at an unnatural, unsustainable angle. She breaks the kiss and tries to step back, but Mulder’s lips chase hers, his arms remaining tight around her body.

“Mulder, wait,” she says.

“Don’t want to,” he murmurs against her mouth. "You taste so good, Scully. Can’t stop.“ She leans back even further, and his mouth lands at her neck.

"Mulder, this angle doesn’t work for me. Do you have any concern whatsover for the state of my neck?” He stops and draws back up to his full height, looking down at her as though surprised to find her standing so much lower than him. But he’s nothing if not resourceful, and scant seconds later, he’s slid one arm under her ass and has lifted her up against him.

Taken by surprise, Scully wraps her legs around his waist mostly by reflex, clutching him tightly around the neck as he goes back in for another kiss. Just like in her own fantasy, she can easily feel the evidence of his desire for her. Confronted with it in real life for the first time, she can’t help grinding against him, and he groans into her throat and squeezes her even closer. He backs up, carefully, until he can sit on the edge of her bed, keeping her in his lap, pressed firmly against his erection, which he thrusts up at her in uneven intervals. Once he’s certain she’s not going to fall, his hands leave her back and travel to the buttons on the front of her shirt. Scully breaks the kiss.

“Hang on,” she says. “Your fantasy doesn’t start like this.”

“ _That_ fantasy doesn’t,” he says, determinedly unbuttoning her blouse. “But getting to take your clothes off is a fantasy I’ve had for a lot longer.”

She’s hardly one to deny him fulfillment of a wish he’s been harboring for years… and in any case, now that he’s gotten her blouse unbuttoned and the front closure of her bra undone, his hands are doing truly spectacular things to her breasts. And once he drops his head and his mouth gets into the act, the very last thing she wants is for him to stop.

Mulder spends more time on her breasts than any of her previous lovers have devoted to foreplay in its entirety. Scully, though, is anything but bored. She figures that if Mulder has devoted as much time to imagining what’s been hidden by her clothing as she’s spent thinking about what’s under his, it’s only natural for him to want to practically take up residence between her breasts, now that they’ve been revealed to him.

When she does stop him, it’s because she’s so incredibly worked up, so aroused, that she knows there’s going to be a dark patch on Mulder’s jeans when she finally moves. She yanks at the hem of Mulder’s t-shirt until he takes the hint and rips it over his head, flinging it to the floor. She kisses her way down his neck and bites at his shoulder. Mulder gasps and picks her up again, flipping her onto her back against the pillows.

“So here’s where I’d really like to incorporate at least _part_ of my fantasy,” he says, unbuttoning her jeans. She lifts her hips and allows him to slide them down, along with her panties. He doesn’t touch her yet, though. Instead, he stands, retrieving the now-unwrapped vibrator from where Scully had dropped it when he’d picked her up. Scully bites her lip, suddenly nervous.

“You want to watch me… do that?” She swallows. 

“I want to watch you pleasure yourself, yes,” he says.

“Wouldn’t _you_ rather pleasure me?” His grin is bordering on wicked.

“I’m going to help,” he says.

“I thought you just fantasized that you walked in on me doing it, and then we made love.”

“That, too,” says Mulder, “but I never imagined you stopping right away.” He puts the vibrator in her hand and closes her fingers over it. “Please, Scully? It’s just me. You don’t have to be scared.” She closes her eyes for a moment, gathering her nerve. She hadn’t thought, until now, that Mulder wanted to watch her doing _that_ for more than a moment or two. It feels to her like what Mulder is asking is almost more intimate than what they’ve just been doing.

But when she opens her eyes and meets his gaze, she knows he’s right, just from the look on his face. She doesn’t have to be scared of him, or of what he’ll think of her.

“Okay,” she says. Mulder beams at her and kisses her sweetly. He watches as she takes the vibrator and carefully eases it into herself, situating the smaller portion against her clit. She’s so wet, there’s no need for lubrication. Mulder props himself up on one elbow for a better look. Scully presses the button on the base once, activating the lowest setting, and as the vibrator hums to life, she drops her head back against the pillows with a breathy moan. Immediately, Mulder begins kissing along her neck, moving downward, nibbling along her collarbone. When his mouth latches onto her nipple, the combined sensations are almost too much, and she arches up off of the bed.

Mulder lets out a throaty chuckle. He can’t seem to decide which he’d rather look at- her face, contorting in ecstasy, or her hands, busy between her legs- and he switches back and forth frequently. His attention is somehow even more arousing, and Scully knows she will definitely not be exploring all the different settings on her new vibrator today. Not when she’s already on the cusp of an orgasm after only a few short minutes.

As she nears her climax, though, Scully begins to feel that this is all wrong. Not because she’s shy or uncomfortable- those feelings are long gone, at this point- but because there’s a sense of being incomplete, lacking something. She holds down the button on the vibrator, turning it off, and withdraws it from herself. Mulder makes a noise of protest and looks up at her, chagrined. 

“Scully, why-”

“Because I don’t want to come like that, Mulder,” she says. “I want to come with _you_ inside of me, not a hunk of plastic and metal.” His slow smile says, all too clearly, that he likes that idea, too.

“Hold that thought,” he says, and stands, kicking off his shoes, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans, and pushing everything off. He climbs back onto the bed, naked, and kisses her long and deep. “How?” he asks, his voice raspy with desire. “Like in your fantasy, only the bed is the hood of the car?” Scully laughs.

“That’s only going to work if I’m in my four-inch heels, Mulder,” she says. She reaches out and takes hold of him. “And I can’t wait for this long enough to go and get them.” She guides him to lie between her legs.

“Wouldn’t want to make you wait,” whispers Mulder, as he looks down, watching himself enter her in one long, smooth, liquid slide.

For a moment, it’s too overwhelming for both of them, and they cannot do anything but rest, completely still, their foreheads pressed together, breathing in concert. Scully very nearly has tears in her eyes, and when she looks up at Mulder, she sees that he does, too.

“Scully,” he says, his voice hoarse and rich with emotion. She can’t find any words at all, not even his name, and so she kisses him instead, clutching his head to her.

Then Mulder begins to move, and she loses the ability to do anything at all except to rock against him and bite at his neck, sometimes gently, sometimes not. She’s incredibly grateful for Mulder’s request to watch her as her orgasm rushes at her, because if the sounds he’s making are anything to go by, this is going to be over quickly, and she knows Mulder well enough to be certain that he’ll feel no end of guilt if he finishes before her.

When she does come, crying out his name and scratching her nails across his back, Mulder studies her face with an intensity that would, only an hour ago, have made her nervous and uncomfortable. Now, though, she knows he’s simply committing every single detail of this to memory, forming a picture he’ll carry with him forever. He follows her moments later, all but sobbing in ecstasy, jerking hard against her as his climax consumes him.

With as much as Mulder outweighs her, Scully is grateful that he doesn’t immediately collapse on top of her. He’s trying hard to support himself on his elbows, but she can feel his arms trembling… so as much as she wants to keep him inside of her forever, she nudges him gently to lie on his side.

“Oh my God, Scully,” he gasps, sliding his hand up and down the curve of her waist. “I want to do that all the time. Every day. Every _where_.” She laughs.

“Everywhere, Mulder?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Your place. My place. Our cars. Rental cars, motel rooms, in fields, in the woods, on the beach… in the office, Scully. Oh my God, I want to do it in the office. I know it’s technically inappropriate, but I really don’t care.”

“Only _technically_ inappropriate?” She shakes her head. “You’ve got a pretty broad interpretation of FBI policy if you think sex in our office would only be _technically_ inappropriate.” He snuggles into her neck, nipping at the skin behind her ear.

“Don’t care,” he says, his voice muffled. “Still want to do it.” She shakes her head.

“Let’s start with our apartments, okay?” she suggests. “And then we’ll see where we go from there.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "If you're feeling the urge to sing, please, repress it," "The last time I did this, I was drunk," and "Nobody's died, but it's early yet."

"If you're feeling the urge to sing, please, repress it."

Mulder turns to look down at Scully in surprise and mild indignation.

"Scully, it's karaoke night," he protests. "People are _supposed_ to sing."

"Have you forgotten what happened the _last_ time you participated in karaoke?" Scully responds. On her other side, her brother Charlie leans in from his seat at the bar, interested.

"What happened?" he asks.

"Nothing," says Mulder with a dismissive wave of his hand, and Scully snorts in disbelief.

"I wouldn't call getting permanently banned from O'Shaughnessy's Pub 'nothing,' Mulder," she counters.

"Getting banned from a bar because of a singing performance?" Charlie asks, grinning. "This, I've _got_ to hear."

"It wasn't a big deal," says Mulder. "They just didn't appreciate my artistic interpretation of Def Lepperd, that's all."

"'Artistic interpretation' is an interesting way of re-phrasing stripping," says Scully drily. Charlie guffaws.

"You stripped? Is she telling the truth?"

"Not all the way," says Mulder. "Not by a long shot." He takes a dignified sip of his scotch. "And anyway, the crowd loved it."

"Yes, I think the girls from the bachelorette party that tried to join you onstage found you particularly inspiring," says Scully. "But I think that management might have been persuaded to overlook that if you hadn't... you know... broken their stage."

"How was I to know that pole wasn't a load-bearing structure?" asks Mulder innocently. "Why have poles on the sides of your stage if you don't expect people to try and dance on them?" Scully rolls her eyes, and Charlie laughs again.

When her younger brother had called to say he'd be in town at the end of January, and had asked to meet her partner, Scully had been both surprised and nervous. Charlie had always been in closer touch with her older brother Bill than with anyone else in the family, which meant that the majority of the information he would have gotten about Mulder over the years was from a source that was, to say the least, biased.

But Charlie's always been one to make up his own mind, and so far, his opinion of Mulder seems to be favorable. He'd had questions, of course, but he had been kind enough to ask them _before_ meeting them at this bar, rather than in Mulder's presence. Chief among them had been the question of what, exactly, is going on between them... and that's not something Scully's even remotely prepared to answer.

They're partners, of course, and yes, they're friends- best friends, really- but since New Year's, things have gotten... complicated. To say the least.

The first kiss could have easily been written off as a New Year's kiss between friends, but there have been others since then, others that are not so easily explained. They've happened in private, but never in a location when taking things any further had been a possibility: one in the car as they'd been stopped at a light between their hotel and a local police station, one on the sidewalk in front of a diner where they'd shared lunch before catching a flight home, and, just yesterday, a long, sweet, lingering kiss in the open doorway of their office when they'd found themselves passing through at the same moment.

Clearly, things are changing... but slowly, and neither of them have put words to it yet. Words have never exactly been their strongest suit.

"How about this," suggests Charlie now, knocking back the last of his beer and turning to Mulder. "Why don't you and I sing something together? That way I've got you for moral support, and you've got me to restrain you if your clothes threaten to part company with your body." 

"You need moral support for a crowd this small?" asks Mulder. "Really?"

"Have pity," says Charlie. "The last time I did this, I was drunk."

"I don't know," says Mulder. "I had no idea it was karaoke night here tonight. I didn't exactly leave the house with the intention of singing in public." Charlie shakes his head sadly.

"From the stories I've been hearing, I came here expecting danger and excitement at every turn," says Charlie. "Ad so far, I'm woefully underwhelmed."

"Nobody's died, but it's early yet," Scully intones.

"Come on, Mulder," pleads Charlie. "Let's wow your sister with our vocal prowess." Scully laughs and shakes her head as Mulder finally hops down off of his barstool and follows Charlie to the stage.

They make a good team, Scully notices, getting the modest crowd cheering and laughing. They bounce the verses of Aerosmith's "Walk This Way" back and forth between them, effortlessly keeping it fast-paced and lively, drawing people up to their feet to dance. 

"They've got great energy," says a voice to Scully's left, and she turns suddenly to find a tall, handsome man, in his early forties, she estimates, taking the barstool that Mulder had vacated minutes ago. "Are they your brothers?"

"The redhead is," Scully says. "The other one is my partner."

"Partner, huh?" the man asks. "Very modern. I like a modern woman. 'Boyfriend' makes me think high school, you know?" 

"He's my work partner," Scully clarifies. She just barely keeps from cringing at the way the man's face lights up.

"So he won't object if I buy you a drink, then?" Scully opens her mouth to say that _she_ would mind, but before she can get a word out, there's a sudden change of song from the stage.

_Wise men say only fools rush in,_  
_But I can't help falling in love with you._

Scully jerks her attention up front. Charlie has left the stage- she can see him winding his way through the tables, returning to the bar- and Mulder is alone onstage, crooning the Elvis song out to the audience.

Well... that's not quite accurate. It's not the audience at large he's singing to.

It's _her_.

Scully feels herself go red all over, a pleasant flush spreading across her cheeks. Her smile grows slowly, but when Mulder sees it from across the bar, his answering beam makes her heart skip a beat. The man next to her melts away soundlessly, perhaps understanding that, no matter what he's thinking of trying, it's not going to be enough to break through the magnetism of these two people gazing unabashedly at each other from opposite ends of the room.

"He requested this one special," Charlie tells her as he reclaims his barstool. "Told me to go sit back down, that he's got this." Charlie leans back against the bar and watches Mulder, grinning. "I'd order another drink," he remarks, "but I have a sneaking suspicion we're not gonna be here much later."

And looking at Mulder, whose eyes have not broken contact with hers since he began singing, Scully would have to say Charlie is probably right.

It looks like, by the end of the evening, the answer to Charlie's question of what's going on between Mulder and Scully just might be a little bit easier to answer.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Let's face it: you and five A.M. have never been the best of friends."

_i. then_

His new partner is absolutely _not_ a morning person.

Mulder is surprised by this, mainly because, thus far, Scully has absolutely never been late to work in the mornings, and when they’re on the road together, she’s always ready to leave the motel when he is, looking prim, professional, and perfectly pressed (albeit a little ridiculous in some of those suits). In his experience, such rigid punctuality before noon is rare in those who do not naturally come to life at sunrise each day.

That, however, was before their first truly early-morning flight together.

They’ve had less than ten out-of-town cases together, and thus far, their return trips have happened in the evenings, after a full day of closing things up at field offices and local police stations, but this time, the wrap-up had continued long into the night, and the first available flight Mulder could find hadn’t been until six-thirty the following morning. He hadn’t expected the early flight to be a problem; Scully’s always far more ready and organized than he is in the mornings.

Maybe, though, her compulsion to always be exactly where she’s expected to be, when she’s expected to be there, is more a byproduct of her upbringing, the natural result of life in a military family... because here he is, standing outside of her motel room, knocking and getting no response. He presses his ear to the door, thinking that maybe he’ll hear the shower running and know that she’s at least getting ready, but all he hears is a quiet, steady beeping noise, which he realizes with a jolt is the sound of the motel-issue clock radio.

They always get two keys and exchange them, just in case, but this is the first time he’s felt the urge to use it. Visions are flashing through his mind of Scully injured somehow, or maybe in the grip of a seizure from some undiagnosed condition, and it’s purely concern for her safety that propels him through the door and into her still-dark room.

“Scully?” he hisses. There’s no answer. He ventures further in, and by the light from the hallway, he can just make out her still form lying huddled in bed. The clock radio is beeping insistently, though not very loudly, and he silences it, then turns on the bedside lamp. When he sees her, he lets out a sigh of relief.

She’s fine. Fast asleep, but fine. Sprawled out on her back, one arm flung up over her head, her red hair spread out across the pillow and her perfect lips parted slightly. She’s emitting tiny snores that he finds adorable.

Actually, right at this moment, he finds everything about her adorable... except perhaps the fact that she’s about to make them miss their flight. It’s that thought that makes him reluctantly reach out and disturb her rest with a gentle shake of the shoulder. She doesn’t open her eyes; rather, she rolls onto her side, away from him, and tucks herself into a little ball.

Funnily enough, he’s never quite realized just how tiny she is, how much smaller than him, until now. What she lacks in size, she more than makes up for in confidence, intelligence, competence, and heart. She’s become such a giant in his consciousness that it’s almost unsettling to really and truly see just how physically small she really is.

“Scully,” he says, giving her shoulder another soft shake. “Wake up. We’re gonna miss our flight.” At the sound of his voice, her eyes finally open. She rolls onto her back and squints up at him. There’s absolutely nothing welcoming in her expression.

“Mulder, what are you doing in my room?” she demands.

“Your alarm was going off,” he says, “but you weren’t waking up. And we’re not going to make our flight if we don’t leave in the next five minutes.”

“So get me on a later one and I’ll see you back in Washington,” she grumbles, rolling away from him again and pulling the covers up to her ears. “If I recall correctly, the crack-of-dawn travel arrangements were _your_ idea, not mine.”

“If you stay later, you’ll have to inform the local field office,” says Mulder. “And something tells me that even though _our_ case is done, the charming Agent McPherson will want your opinion on any number of _other_... cases.” The awkward young agent in the Minneapolis field office had been drooling over Scully from the moment she’d walked in the door, and Mulder had been able to tell that his constant hovering had been driving his partner insane.

Sure enough, the threat is enough to goad Scully into moving. “Fine, fine,” she huffs, throwing back the covers and nearly knocking him off of the bed in her haste to vacate it. “But next time, Mulder, I book the flights home, you got that?”  
Not a morning person. He’s got it.

 

_ii. now_

 

“All of the afternoon flights have layovers,” Scully says, frowning at her computer screen in consternation. “Most of them have more than one... it’ll be after midnight by the time we get there.” She leans back in her chair and sighs.

“What about this one?” Mulder asks, pointing at the listings on Scully’s laptop. “Leaves at seven in the evening and gets us there by eleven. Nonstop.”

“It would still mean getting in at midnight,” she says, shaking her head. “No, Mulder, I think the best option is the first flight of the day. It leaves here at six-thirty, so we’ll miss the local rush hour, and it gets us there just before lunch, so there shouldn’t be rush hour traffic on that end, either.”

“I’m pretty sure ‘rush hour’ is a foreign concept at any time of day in Wyoming, Scully,” says Mulder. “I think you have to have a population density of greater than five people per square mile before you have can start worrying about traffic jams.” Scully looks up at him with an expression that kills any further quips before they can leave his mouth. She’s been tense and nervous every since the phone call had come, and she’s clearly not in the mood for jokes.

“I’m just going to go ahead and book the six-thirty flight, okay?” she asks.

“You’re sure you want to leave that early? Let’s face it: you and five A.M. have never been the best of friends.” Another look. “But yeah, sure, we’ll leave at six-thirty. I’m not waking you up, though. I value my life too much.”

“You won’t have to worry about that,” says Scully with a sigh. “Something tells me I won’t be sleeping at all tonight.” Mulder gets up from his desk and stands behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her to lean back against him.

“It’s going to be fine, Scully,” he promises. “He called us, remember? He _wants_ to meet us.” 

“But what if he hates us?” she asks. “What if he only wants to meet us because he wants to tell us that-”

“Scully,” he interrupts her, squeezing her more tightly against himself, “he sought us out. He found his way into sealed records he never should have been able to access. I don’t think he went through all of that trouble to get us to fly out there and meet him _just_ so he could tell us off in person.” She turns in her seat enough to look up at him.

“You really think so?” she asks, bitting her lip in worry. He reaches out and smooths the lip with his thumb, then bends to kiss it tenderly.

“I do,” he says. “And if we can’t get there until midnight, I’m sure he’ll understand... so you don’t have to book the six-thirty flight if you don’t want to.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head decisively. “I’ve waited too long already for this. I’m not waiting even longer just because I don’t do well with mornings.”

“Wow,” Mulder says with a chuckle. She looks up at him, eyebrow cocked in question. “I’ve always known you weren’t a morning person. I’ve just never heard you admit it before, that’s all.” Her eyes narrow.

“Watch it, Mulder,” she says. “I had some pretty amazing plans to occupy the hours I’m going to be spending awake tonight. Something tells me you won’t want to be left out.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “No, that’s fine. It’s not like I needed to sleep tonight."

As much care as Scully takes with her makeup, as much time as she spends getting it just right each morning, one of her absolute favorite moments of the day is and always will be the moment she straightens up from bending over the bathroom sink, her face fresh and scrubbed clean, her freckles shining through once more.

Tonight, though, all that she can think (and she knows it shouldn’t bother her, but dammit, it _does_ ) is that it’s been two months since anyone but her has seen her face like this, and she honestly has no idea when (or even if) anyone will again.

She can’t say exactly why this particular thought is plaguing her tonight. For certain, nothing had happened today to bring it on- it had been a Friday just like any other, as typical as it’s possible for a day at work to be now that she’s Mulder’s partner. They’d spent the morning in the fingerprint lab getting results back from the analysis of a crime scene, they’d had lunch, and they’d spent the afternoon arguing over the exact wording of their report. Completely normal stuff.

But somehow, when Scully had arrived home in the evening, carrying a take-out salad from the deli down the street, the total silence of her empty apartment had hit her in a way that it hasn’t for a long time.

She’d found it hard, for weeks after her father’s death, to sit in her living room. Her eyes had been drawn irresistibly to the armchair where she’d seen him (hallucinated him, she keeps telling herself) on the night of his death. Those weeks had made her, for the first time, question her decision to finally break things off with Ethan. More than once, she’d found herself standing in the kitchen with the phone in her hand, her fingers hovering over the buttons, about to call him and tell him that she’d reconsidered... but each time, she’d talked herself down. Letting Ethan walk out the door had been the right decision; he’d hated how much she’d been gone for work, and things have only gotten busier since then.

“I can’t keep coming in second to your job, Dana,” he’d told her. “It’s not fair to me. And I’m telling you now: no other guy is gonna think it’s fair, either.”

Most days, she thinks Ethan had simply been being selfish and unsupportive, refusing to see how important her work is to her, how fulfilling she finds it. But on nights like tonight, she can’t help but wonder: what if he’s right? What if every relationship she tries from here on out is doomed because she’s too invested in her job?

 _Stop worrying about it,_ Scully tells herself firmly as she dries her face, walks into the kitchen, and retrieves her salad from the fridge. _There are plenty of men out there who wouldn’t be threatened by a career-minded woman._

There’s a knock on her apartment door just as she’s sitting down to eat, and she turns, frowning. Her mother would call before coming by, just to make sure she’s not out of town, and Scully can’t think who else it would be. She stands and walks to the door, stretches to look through the peephole, and sees....

Mulder.

Aside from swinging by once or twice to pick her up on the way to the airport, Mulder hasn’t been to her apartment since the Eugene Tooms incident. She can’t imagine what would bring him here tonight- he generally prefers to interrupt her solitude with phone calls, not in-person visits- but all the same, she opens the door and lets him in. He strides right past her, barely looking at her.

“I’ve been thinking, Scully,” he says, in lieu of a greeting, “that the fingerprints found at the scene aren’t necessarily the conclusive evidence DCPD claims they are.” Scully sighs and closes the door, just barely repressing the urge to grab him and force him out of it first. He’s clearly shown up spoiling for a good debate, and knowing him, he could easily keep arguing for hours.

“No, that’s fine. It’s not like I needed to sleep tonight,” she mutters, but he pays absolutely no attention.

“You don’t necessarily need the hand itself to produce fingerprints, right? All you really need are the fingertips themselves,” he says. She rolls her eyes.

“The fingertips generally tend to be attached to the hand, Mulder,” she says.

“Yeah, but what if they _weren’t_?” His eyes are bright in their earnestness, and she wonders, not for the first time, where he gets his energy from. She knows for a fact it’s not due to anything resembling a healthy sleep schedule. “What if our real killer is cutting off the fingertips of other people? And... I don’t know... attaching them to his own hands, somehow? It’s possible, right?”

“The angles of the prints appeared perfectly natural in their positioning,” counters Scully. “If the killer had been holding the fingertips, or had them attached somehow to the tips of his own fingers- which, by the way, is one of your more preposterous ideas, and that’s really saying something- the angles would have appeared awkward and unnatural.”

“But if he’s been doing this repeatedly for years,” presses Mulder, undeterred, “he’s probably gotten good at it. Practiced. Made sure to make it look as natural as possible.”

“Why go through all that trouble instead of... oh, I don’t know... wearing gloves?” demands Scully.

“To throw us off the scent, of course,” says Mulder, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Think about it, Scully. Repeat murders with similar characteristics that are never connected, because the fingerprints at each crime scene are different... but the reason the murders have never been solved, the reason the prints never turn up a suspect, is that the fingertips that made the prints were _stolen_ by the real killer.”

“And the people the fingertips were stolen from... what? Just decided never to report that a stranger had chopped off their fingers? Wouldn’t a rash of forcible fingertip amputations draw some notice?”

“Not if the people the fingers are being stolen from are already dead,” says Mulder triumphantly. Scully sighs and massages the bridge of her nose, where she can feel a headache forming. 

“Mulder,” she says wearily, slowly approaching the place where he stands under the bright overhead lights of her kitchen, “I’m honestly not up to this right now. If you want to discuss it, we will, but not until Monday morning, okay?” He’s frowning suddenly, looking at her as though he’s never seen her before. “What?” A slow smile breaks out across his face. “Mulder, _what_?”

“You have freckles,” he says wonderingly. “I didn’t know that.” She feels herself beginning to go red underneath said freckles, but she’d be hard-pressed to explain why.

“Yes, I do,” she says. His grin is verging on goofy.

“How come I never knew you had freckles?” he asks. “How come I’ve never seen them?”

“It’s called makeup, Mulder,” she sighs. His grin fades slightly.

“Why do you cover them up?” he asks. There’s no accusation in his voice, only frank curiosity. And though it’s a fairly personal question, oddly, she’s not offended.

“They make me look... young,” she explains. “Younger than I am. Softer. More... more like a girl, I guess. Less like a grown woman.” He shakes his head in disagreement.

“I like them,” he says. “I really do. They suit you.”

“They also make people take me less seriously,” Scully says. “Or so I’ve found, over the years. Better to just cover them up and remove at least one obstacle to the men in the boys’ club listening to what I have to say.” Mulder’s smile has completely faded now.

“Is that what you think I’d do?” he asks. “Take you less seriously? I promise, Scully, I’m fully aware that you’re competent and capable. A few cute little dots on your nose aren’t ever going to get in the way of that.” She smiles at the description- somehow, the idea of him thinking of any part her as “cute” makes her go warm all over, as much as she wants to be irritated by him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says. “But listen, Mulder, I really am tired. I’d like to have my dinner, take a long bath, and go to bed early. Can we please finish this debate on Monday morning? Or even sometime tomorrow, on the phone? I’ll be here doing laundry all day, you can call me anytime.” His face falls slightly. “Or come over, even. Bring something for lunch, and we can go over the evidence then.” He brightens immediately.

“Sure, Scully,” he says agreeably. “I’ll be over around noon, okay?”

As she shuts the door behind him, moments later, Scully makes a decision: tomorrow, her makeup will stay put in her makeup bag- or, at any rate, her foundation will.

And maybe, from now on, when they’re out of town, and meet up in one of their hotel rooms to go over the day’s work before bed, she’ll be sure to wash her face first.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: “It feels amazing… which is exactly why I don’t trust it," and “You’re never allowed to drink that much coffee again."

She’s creeping slowly across the room, trying hard to keep the floorboards from creaking, and trying even harder not to stop and look at the beautiful, naked man lying half-covered in the bed she’s vacated moments ago. If she does, she knows she’ll lose her resolve and be unable to leave.

“Scully? Where are you going?” She freezes in place, her hand on the bedroom door, hoping like hell that he can’t see her guilty expression in the dim light as she turns.

“I, uh... I thought maybe I’d go home and change before work,” she says. His face says he doesn’t believe her, not at all. He sits up, swinging his long, unclad legs over the edge of the bed, his expression disbelieving. “I couldn’t sleep,” she continues, and that much is the truth: she’d spent hours after Mulder had dropped off lying there, staring at his ceiling, doing her level best to keep from panicking, to relax into the warmth of Mulder’s body- somehow simultaneously alien, and yet oh-so-familiar- pressed against hers.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” She nods, looking at the floor. “You’re never allowed to drink that much coffee again. Not right before bed.”

“That was tea, Mulder,” she says. He nods.

“That’s right,” he says. “It was.” He looks at her pointedly, and she wishes he’d at least put his boxers back on. It’s somehow harder to lie to him, to pretend she’s fine and everything is normal, when he’s sitting there totally naked, semi-erect and likely still smelling of the scent they’d made between them, the same intoxicating perfume she’d tried in vain to wash off of herself in his sink only moments ago.

“I just... we have to be in the office in a few hours, and I thought I’d-”

“Sneak out while I was sleeping? Meet me at work and pretend like nothing happened, like everything is normal?”

“No! Of course not!”

“You’ve got an overnight bag with two extra suits, plus miniatures of all your overpriced toiletries, in the trunk of your car out front. There’s a fold-up hairbrush and emergency makeup in your purse. I have a fully-functional shower- it’s even clean, I cleaned the bathroom before I went to England. There’s a six-pack of your nonfat macrobiotic yogurt in my fridge and coffee in my kitchen. You can get ready for work just as easily here as you can at home.”

“I... uh... I forgot about my overnight bag.” 

“Bullshit.” For a moment, she’s worried he’s angry... but then, suddenly, he smiles, and she realizes: he’s been expecting this. Somehow she feels both guilty and relieved: guilty for doing this to him (or trying to), and relieved that he knows her well enough to anticipate it. He holds out a hand to her, but doesn’t stand up. “C’mere, Scully,” he says, his voice gentle, and she obliges. He pulls her down to sit on his lap- a near-perfect repeat of the night before, her completely clothed and him totally naked. He nuzzles into her neck, kissing gently under her ear and sliding one hand up under the back of her sweater.

“Scully,” he whispers, “what are you afraid of?” She shakes her head, leaning on his shoulder. “Didn’t it feel right to you? Last night?” He draws back and looks at her. “Doesn’t it feel right now?”

“It feels amazing… which is exactly why I don’t trust it.” He says nothing, waiting. “I don’t mean that I don’t trust _you_ ,” she says. “I know you’d never hurt me, Mulder. Not on purpose.”

“Out of carelessness, then,” he says. He doesn’t look hurt, but he’s stiffened in her arms. Just barely.

“No,” she murmurs. “ _I’m_ the one who’s going to end up hurting _you_.” She sighs. “I don’t know how to do this, Mulder. I never have.”

“I’d say that last night is ample evidence to the contrary,” he says, leaning forward to nip at her neck again.

“Not that,” she says. “I mean the rest of it. The part where I open up and share my entire life with another person.” She lets go of him and crosses her arms over her chest, drawing into herself. “Every man I’ve ever been with has told me. Ethan, Jack, Daniel... they all said I was closed-off. Cold. Impossible to get through to.” Suddenly, without warning, she’s on the verge of tears. Mulder’s arms tighten around her. “I’ll just end up freezing you out, Mulder, and I don’t want to do that to you. I don’t want to hurt you like that. You deserve better.”

“Scully,” says Mulder, “I think you’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

“Have you missed the fact that you and I have been sharing our lives with each other for _years_?”

“Mulder, that’s not the same,” she objects.

“Sure, it is,” he says. “Who do I call in the middle of the night, when I can’t sleep? You, right? And where do I spend almost every Saturday and at least half of my Sunday afternoons? At your apartment, and if I’m not over there, you’re over here. And no matter what time of day or night it is, no matter what you’ve got going on, you _always_ welcome me in and you _never_ make me feel like I’m intruding, like there’s somewhere else you’d rather be.”

“Yeah, but Mulder, that’s for work,” she says. “You call me with questions about cases. You show up with files tucked under your arm. You ask me over here to go through evidence with you.”

“And it typically takes me... what? Ten minutes to throw the work to the wind?” He chuckles. “Scully, I thought for sure that by now, you’d have figured out that the cases I show up with are just excuses to spend more time with you. And you’ve never turned me away.” He nuzzles against her again and wraps his arms still more tightly around her. “You’ve been sharing yourself with me for years. What happened last night? Merely a formality. Long overdue, I’ll grant you... but really, just the final step in a process that began over seven years ago.”

“You make it sound so romantic, Mulder,” Scully sighs.

“You want romance?” he asks. “How about this? I love you, Scully. I’ve been in love with you for years. And I _know_ you. I know you’re gonna want to go back and forth on this at least seven or eight times before you’re confident that it’s the right thing to do, so let me tell you now: what happened last night is exactly what was supposed to happen. Everything we said last night about choices? Choosing the right path? Ending up where we’re supposed to? _This_ is the only right choice, Scully. _This_ is the path you and I are supposed to be on. Together.” 

“How can you be so sure?” she asks. In response, he takes her chin gently in his hand and kisses her, long and sweet.

“That’s how,” he answers. “I trust the way this feels. I trust _you_. And all those men who fed you that ridiculous line about being impossible to get through to? They were all too lazy to put in the effort, Scully. _They’re_ the ones who didn’t deserve _you_.” Now the tears are falling, but it’s okay, because Mulder’s eyes are wet, too.

“You really have that kind of faith in me?” she asks, and he nods. 

“You’ve never let me down before, Scully,” he says. “I know you’re not gonna start now.” He slides his hands up the back of her sweater again. “Now, we’ve got almost three hours before we need to get to work, and I think we’ve established that there’s no real need for you to go home first.”

“What did you have in mind to pass the time?” she asks, winding her fingers into the hair at the back of his head.

“I have some ideas,” he whispers, “but you’re overdressed for pretty much all of them.”

“Guess we’d better fix that, then, huh?” she asks. She grasps the hem of her sweater and pulls it over her head.

“That’s a good start,” Mulder says, bending to nuzzle at the tops of her breasts. “But by my calculations, there’s still a long way to go.”

“I agree,” she says. “And... Mulder?” He looks up at her.

“Yeah?” She swallows, hard.

“I love you, too.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You can hit me, but you can't kiss me."

She lets herself into her apartment, shutting the door tightly behind her and sinking down against it. She holds her overnight bag, full now of dirty clothes (and one decidedly rumpled black evening gown) tightly to her chest, curling her body over it, finally crumbling over the stress and the tension of the day.

It’s over. It must be. There’s absolutely no way that their partnership can ever recover from this. There might have been a chance- a slim one, but still, a chance- earlier today, if Mulder had been able to at least _try_ to understand her motivations, to see things from her point of view. There had still been some hope for them when they’d left Mulder’s apartment, when she’d taken him to the red brick building where Spender’s “offices” had been.

But by the time she’d left... all hope had been destroyed.

 

\--------------------

 

_“I saw something else in him. A longing for something more than power. Maybe for something he could never have.” From his slouched position in the office’s doorway, Mulder mumbles something inaudible. She turns to face him. “What was that?”_

_“I don’t think it was some_ thing _that he was longing for,” he says. Scully’s eyes narrow dangerously._

_“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mulder laughs humorlessly, derisively._

_“Come on, Scully, do I have to spell it out for you? He put his hands on you without your consent. He forced you to wear revealing clothing for him.”_

_“To prevent me wearing a wire, I already told you,” Scully insists._

_“So you’ve said, but where are these supposed tapes?”_

_“He had to have intercepted them somehow. That’s the only explanation I can think of. And are you honestly saying that Spender did all of this because he wants_ me _? Mulder, he’s old enough to be my father. Grandfather, almost.”_

_“That’s never stopped men from looking at you like that before,” Mulder says. “And anyway, I’m betting that wanting to fuck you was only a step towards his endgame, not the eventual goal itself.” Scully’s head snaps up at his crudeness._

_“And what,” she asks, her voice cold, “would you say that his final goal was, then?”_

_“Coming between us, obviously,” Mulder says. “Driving a wedge between us. Demoralizing me. Derailing my work by making me focus on this, instead.” Rage rushes through Scully so quickly that she feels lightheaded._

_“Naturally, it’s all about you, isn’t it, Mulder? I don’t know why I’m so surprised. It always is.” Mulder stands up straight, no longer leaning against the doorway, and begins to walk slowly towards her._

_“Not about me, Scully. About_ us _. About you and me, about the work we do together.” He reaches the center of the room, where she’s standing. “Something you seem to have forgotten in your haste to rush off with him.”_

_“It was the only way,” she protests. “He wouldn’t have done it if I’d insisted you come with us, Mulder. I did what I thought you would have done.” She crosses her arms. “Or is there a separate set of rules dictating what I’m allowed to do in the name of our work?”_

_“You’re goddamn right there is,” Mulder says without hesitation. “You can’t risk yourself like that, Scully. I won’t let you.” Scully draws herself up to her full height, her fists clenched at her sides._

_“Let me, Mulder?_ LET _me? I do not fucking_ belong _to you!”_

_“YES, YOU GODDAMN DO!” She opens her mouth to shout back... but she never gets the chance, because suddenly, he seizes her face in his hands and kisses her. Hard. He backs her across the room until he has her up against the paneled wall, her mouth held open under his. For a moment, she’s entirely suffused with heat, her nerves sparking and her knees weakening. His body presses tightly against her... and at the first touch of his tongue to hers, she comes suddenly to herself and shoves him back. And even though she knows she’ll regret it immediately, her rage takes control, and she slaps him across the face._

_“You can hit me, but you can’t kiss me,” he says. “That’s telling, Scully, very telling.”_

_Okay, maybe she won’t regret it after all._

_“Fuck you, Mulder,” she hisses, and rips herself out of his grasp._

_“Apparently not,” he says coldly. She doesn’t respond. She can’t, not without making things even worse. All she can do is rush out as fast as she can, before he can see how hard she’s crying._

 

\-------------------

 

She’s been crying ever since. Through the taxi ride back to Mulder’s, where she’d rushed in to grab her bag and get back out again before he’d arrived, and then through the ride back to her own apartment. The sense of loss she feels is crushing her, made even worse by the knowledge that it had all been for an empty disk, that she now has nothing to show for it all except for the sudden and violent end of a seven-year partnership that she values more than anything else in the world.

She’s sobbing so loudly that she feels the knock on the door where it presses into her back more than she hears it. She knows it’s Mulder... and her first thought, oddly enough, before she even has time to wonder what he could possibly have come here to say, is that she can’t let him see her like this. The closest she’s ever been to being this out of control of her emotions in his presence had been after the Padgett incident, and he’d been so shaken that he’d barely been able to let her out of his sight long enough for her to change out of her bloodstained clothing. She tries desperately to calm herself, but she can’t- the hiccuping sobs are shaking her entire body and she can scarcely catch her breath.

He knocks again. “Scully,” he calls through the door, “I know you’re in there. I can hear you. If you don’t let me in, I’m using my key.” Panic propels her off of the floor and across the room, but she gets no further than the couch before he unlocks the door and steps inside. He goes pale at the sight of her, at the realization that she’s this upset, and almost as if by reflex, he crosses the room swiftly, holding out his arms. And as much as she hates herself for it, her reflexes must run in the same direction as his, because she falls into his embrace without a moment’s hesitation.

“I’m so, so sorry, Scully,” he murmurs into her ear. “It’s not you I’m angry with. You didn’t deserve any of that.” He cradles her head to his chest and caresses her hair, pushing it back away from her tearstained face. “I just- I was so scared. When we couldn’t find you, Scully, I was terrified.” He shudders and holds her closer. “If something had happened to you... if he’d done something to you....” He presses his face into her neck. “There is absolutely nowhere on earth he would have been able to hide from me. I would have hunted him down and taken him out.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for doubt: he’s deadly serious. “And....” He draws back just enough to look at her. “I’m so sorry for what I did, Scully. That was way out of line.” He strokes her cheek, brushing away her tears with his thumb. “I couldn’t take the thought of losing you and I let it all go to my head.” He leans his forehead against hers. “Please, Scully, tell me that I haven’t fucked this up beyond repair.” She takes a deep breath, steadying herself.

“No,” she says, her voice hoarse, her throat sore. “I don’t think it’s beyond repair.” His relief is palpable. “And it’s not like I don’t-” She stops, going red.

“Not like you don’t what, Scully?”

“It’s not like I don’t want you to... to do what you did,” she says. “Just... maybe not in those circumstances.”

“How about these circumstances?” he asks, quirking a smile at her... but underneath, she can sense his nervousness. She’s beginning to understand, now, why he hasn’t tried to kiss her again since New Year’s: his fear of rejection is every bit as strong as hers. He’s just as terrified of changing things as she is. Only today, with the threat of losing her stronger than it’s been for a long time, has he been driven to act.

And now, he’s asking permission.

Scully slides one hand around the back of Mulder’s neck and draws his face down to her own, covering his lips with hers. He’s still for the space of a heartbeat... and then he moans into her mouth, sliding his arms around her and pulling her flush against him. She’s full of the same all-encompassing warmth that had suffused her in Spender’s office, accompanied, this time, by a sudden rush of joy. Before she can stop herself she’s climbing him like a tree, and he’s only too willing to help, lifting her against him and cupping her ass with one hand as she wraps her legs around his waist. 

He carries her to her bedroom, not breaking the kiss, and sits down on the edge of her bed with her across his lap. She pulls at his t-shirt until he lets go of her, the seam at his shoulder giving way under her desperate fingers before he can help her remove it and fling it across the room. She crosses her arms over her torso, pulling up the hem of her turtleneck, and before she’s even got it over her head, Mulder’s face is buried in her breasts. He suckles and bites at her nipple through her bra, seizing the edge of the cup in his teeth and pulling it back, insinuating his face between the lace fabric and her flesh. She unhooks it and he yanks it off.

Another day- and there _will_ be another, she promises herself that right now- she’ll be content to let him stay at her breast for as long as he wants, but right now, at this moment, she’s desperate for more. She pushes him back. “Can’t wait,” she gasps, in answer to his questioning look. “Need you now.” He nods wordlessly and moves back on the bed, rotating them so that he can lie down with her still astride him.

In his haste, he’s lain the wrong way on the bed, their feet on the pillows and their heads at the footboard, but she doesn’t care. She scrabbles at the zipper on the side of her slacks until she has it undone, and raises herself just enough to wriggle out of them, kicking off her boots in the process and catching her socks in the cuffs of her pants. He fumbles at his own belt, but encounters difficulty almost immediately, because he’s unwilling to tear his eyes from her newly-exposed flesh long enough to look at what he’s doing. She knocks his hands impatiently out of the way and undoes his pants, ripping them quickly down his long legs, giving his shoes and socks the same treatment as her own. 

Scully climbs back up onto Mulder, straddling him again. Behind his head, she catches sight of herself in the newly-replaced mirror above her vanity, and she scarcely recognizes herself. Gone is the prim and put-together special agent that walks out of this apartment every morning, and in her place is someone completely out of control, wanton and careless, heedless of the consequences of her actions.

She likes what she sees.

Looking down, she takes in the sight of Mulder’s erect cock, standing proud and thick away from his body. She suppresses a shudder at the sight of how high up on her own body it reaches. Can she really fit _all_ of that inside of herself? _Only one way to find out,_ she thinks, and before she can hesitate any longer, she seizes him in her hands, lifts her body up, and sinks down onto him in one long, fluid motion.

“Jeeeeeesssuuussss,” Mulder moans, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes closed. “You feel so good, Scully.” She slides her body along his, every nerve ending firing almost to the point of overstimulation, and kisses him deeply as she begins to rock against him. His hands grip her hips hard enough to bruise, but the pain only adds to her sense of urgency, heightening her pleasure still further. She can feel him trembling with the effort of holding back... but she doesn’t want him to. She wants all of him.

“Let go and fuck me, Mulder,” she whispers in his ear. He shudders hard underneath her.

“I want you to-” He gasps and swallows. “I can wait- I want you to-”

“Trust me, I will,” she promises. “I’ll come _so_ hard. Just fuck me. Please.” With another moan, he clutches her to himself and rockets up, launching himself to a sitting positing, then to his knees, Scully still impaled on his throbbing cock. She lowers her knees onto the bed beside his as he begins thrusting, slamming in and out of her at a dizzying speed, clutching her ass with both hands.

The sensations, the slap of their bodies crashing together, the speed, his fingers digging into her, Mulder’s cries and her own mingling in the air, all of it combines to drive Scully absolutely out of her mind until she’s keeping her promise to Mulder long before she’d expected to, coming with a scream and an almost-painful clench of her muscles around him. He shouts her name and joins her moments later, holding her against him as he shoots into her, shuddering and bellowing until it’s over and he collapses onto the bed, spent, never letting go of her.

From being absolutely convinced she’d lost him forever to lying totally sated in his arms, in less than an hour. Scully’s dizzy with the enormity of it all, and she buries her face in Mulder’s sweaty shoulder, trying hard to process it. He runs the fingertips of one hand up and down her back in a barely-there caress, soothing her.

“He failed,” Mulder says, finally, when he’s gotten his breath back. Scully looks up at him.

“Who?”

“Spender,” Mulder says. “He tried to come between us. He failed.” Scully smiles and curls into his side.

“You’d think he would have learned by now,” she says. “Nothing is taking me away from you, Mulder. Not now. Not ever.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is incredibly depressing, but the requester was very specific: post-IWTB, breakup-era.
> 
> Prompt: "You realize this fixes nothing, right?"

She’s been at the hospital for forty-eight hours straight. She’d lost all feeling below the knees six hours ago, and now, driving home, all she wants is dinner, a hot bath, a glass of wine, and to sink into cool, clean sheets and sleep. Preferably for a week.

But somehow she knows, as she pulls up in front of the house and turns off the car, that the meal, at the very least, is probably not going to happen. The bag of garbage from the kitchen is sitting on the front porch in exactly the same place it had occupied when she’d left, two days ago, and her potted plants on the steps have wilted in the hot July sun, indicating that they haven’t been watered.

She knows, as she climbs out of the car, what she’s going to find inside- and she’s right.

The first thing that assaults her senses is the smell. All of the windows are shut tight, denying escape to the hot, fetid air, trapping the smell of grease and stale alcohol inside. As she enters the kitchen, she sees, not the hot meal that she’d been promised would be waiting for her, but stacks of unwashed plates and utensils.

No cups, though- whatever he’s drinking, he’s drinking it straight from the bottle.

On the counter is a half-eaten plate of chicken wings, the sort that come from the freezer section in a plastic bag and get heated up in the microwave. By the number of flies congregating around the plate, and by the smell, she guesses they were probably Mulder’s first meal after she’d headed to work, and they’ve been sitting here since.

For two full days.

She can’t deal with any of this right now. The most she has the energy to do is to open every window in the room as wide as they’ll go. The old house doesn’t have air conditioning, they don’t have window units, and while Mulder had promised her ceiling fans at the beginning of the summer, they’ve yet to materialize.  
And speaking of Mulder....

She can hear a quiet clicking coming from the open door of his study. For a moment, as she approaches, she tries to believe that it might be the sound of typing- a sound that could indicate something approaching productivity... but no, it’s only the repeated clicking of his computer mouse, as he navigates fruitlessly from one website to another. The same as he’s likely been doing for days, since she’d kissed the top of his unwashed head and left for the hospital.

The same as he’s been doing for months. For a year.

He doesn’t look up as she enters. Sitting on his desk by his right hand is a bottle of whiskey... and next to that is a glass of water and an unassuming cluster of pills. One multivitamin, one calcium supplement, one antidepressant. All sitting exactly where she’d placed them before leaving.

She takes a deep breath before she speaks, trying to calm the rage rearing up inside of her. A month ago, she had blown up at him, sobbing and begging him to make an effort, for her, for them... and in the face of her tears, her threats, he had promised. He had sworn to do better, he had gone to the therapist their doctor had recommended, he’d sat in the car while she’d filled his prescriptions, he’d come home and made a list of things he would do this summer to make their house more of a home.

But he is not even trying. And she is out of patience.

“Mulder,” she says, her voice sharp, and he jumps in surprise and turns. His face, with its several days’ growth of beard, relaxes into a smile.

“Hey, what are you doing back already?” he asks. “I thought it was a two-day shift.”

“It was,” she says coldly. “And it’s been two days.” The smile slides off his face. He glances from her to the computer screen, cluttered with browser windows, and back again. “You said,” she continues, her voice beginning to shake, “that when I got back, you’d have the kitchen straightened up. Dinner on the table. The mess in the living room organized and moved back into your office.”

“Scully, I’m sorry, but there was this message-” She holds up her hand, stopping him.

“And you promised me- Mulder, you _swore_ \- that you would take your medication. Which you haven’t done. Mulder, that was a condition of me staying!” The dark expression she’s become so accustomed to slips over his face without warning.

“I’m still not sure what gives you the right to dictate _conditions_ to me like I’m a child,” he says coldly, and just like that, the wall has descended between them again.

“I’m not saying that you have to meet them, Mulder,” she says. “I’m just saying that I cannot live like this anymore. I’ve made my needs clear, and if you’ve decided that it’s too much for you... then I have no place in your life anymore.” She looks him in the eyes. “But it’s _your_ choice, Mulder. As much as you’re killing me by making it.” She turns and leaves the office... but stops in the hallway outside.

 _Come after me_ , she silently wills him. _Come after me like you always have before. Tell me you can’t do it without me. Tell me you need me. Tell me I haven’t thrown away everything and followed you just to have you lead me to this slow death._

After a moment, the clicking of the mouse resumes.

Upstairs, she heads to the bathroom, intent on the bath she’d promised herself, but her appetite for sitting in a tub of hot water wanes the moment she sees how filthy the bathtub- the entire bathroom, really- has become. She hasn’t had time to clean it between the killer shifts at the hospital, and Mulder obviously hasn’t made the effort. She turns and goes back to her bedroom, her shoulders sagging.  
At least the sheets are clean, if not only because she’s been the only one sleeping in this bed for a month. Without taking the time to even remove her shoes, she sinks down atop the comforter, curling herself into a tiny, trembling ball.  
She’s too exhausted even to cry.

 

She doesn’t know how long it’s been when she wakes- the sky outside the window is still dark, and she’s aware only of what has awakened her.  
Her pants have been removed (she must have been more exhausted than she’d realized, if he’s managed to get them off of her without disturbing her sleep), and Mulder is lying on his stomach at the edge of the bed, his face between her thighs, applying gentle pressure to her clit, the exact way he knows she likes. His fingers stroke inside of her, the other hand running up and down her thigh in a soft, soothing motion. He hasn’t done this for her in _months_. She rests her head back against the pillow and tries to enjoy this unexpected peace offering.

But with her eyes closed, the smell suddenly becomes noticeable.

He stinks. Of whiskey, and body odor, and whatever greasy food he’s forced down over the past two days. His stubble abrades the tender skin between her thighs. He could have washed up, shaved, changed clothes, at least, before coming to her, but that had apparently been more than he’s willing to offer.

This man once went to Antarctica for her. But now? He can’t even find his way to the shower on her behalf.

She knows she’s being unkind. She knows he’s sick. But dammit, isn’t she worth at least _wanting_ to get better? Has the reality of actually having her paled so much in comparison to his fantasies that he’s not willing to do anything to try and hold onto her?

“You realize this fixes nothing, right?” The words, cold and hard, are out of her mouth before she can catch them. He stops, mid-stroke, and looks up at her. She sees the moment he closes himself back off, hiding himself from her yet again, and before she can say anything else, he stands and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. She curls onto her side, pulling the covers over her bare legs, and finally, she cries.

In the morning, she packs her bags.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "The nights are the hardest," and "I know you think I don’t hear you, but I do. I’m always listening."

This is the strangest Holiday Inn they’ve ever stayed at, for one reason only: it has a front porch. Scully’s guessing that, since it’s located in a small tourist town that’s clearly trying to hold onto its “quaint” label, the corporate bigwigs had been allowed to build a franchise here _only_ if they’d promised to make it blend in with its surroundings.

They’ve tried, Scully has to give them that, but the results are mixed at best. The lobby, restaurant, and facilities are in one building, and the rooms are in separate bungalows, four rooms in each, the front doors connected by a common porch. The architectural details are old-fashioned, but the cheap stucco coating the walls is not, and neither is the typical Holiday Inn teal-and-orange color scheme that coats everything. Including the bench on which she’s seated.

It’s nearly two in the morning, but she can’t sleep. A month ago that might have been out of the ordinary, but now? Now, rampant insomnia is just another part of this messed-up existence she calls her life. Now, it’s totally normal.

Of course, a month ago, she’d been one of two daughters in her family, and now she’s the only one, so “normal” is really a relative concept.

Scully wraps her arms around herself and shivers. It’s not that cold out here, not really, and she knows it’s all in her mind... but she hasn’t felt truly warm since the moment she’d arrived at her sister’s empty hospital bed and had come to realize she would never see her again.

She’s so exhausted. At first, she’d thought that the insomnia had merely been a product of her location, that she couldn’t sleep in the apartment where Melissa had died, but when her inability to sleep had persisted when she and Mulder had gone on their first out-of-town case since the murder, she’d simply accepted that this is how things will be from now on.

Five cases in the field later, and that hypothesis still holds true. This time, and the last time, as well, she’d tried to talk Mulder out of going at all, had tried to convince him that there’s nothing to see for them here, that it’s better handled by local police, but he hadn’t listened. She understands that he’s suffered a loss, as well, and she’s long been aware of his tendency to get more than a little wrapped up in himself, but still... she’s grieving, too, and it isn’t going well. For a variety of reasons.

A door to Scully’s right opens, and Mulder pokes his head out of his room. He frowns at the sight of her, then steps all the way out, closing the door behind him.

“Scully?” he asks, approaching her cautiously. “What’re you doing up this late?”

“Can’t sleep,” she says. He hesitates, unsure, and after a moment, she takes pity on him and pats the space beside her on the bench.

“Lots of trouble sleeping these days, huh?” he asks. She raises her eyebrows at him. “I hear the TV playing late when we’re out of town. And you sound pretty awake when I call you late at night when we’re home.” She nods. She’d ask him why he calls so late when he expects her to be sleeping, but she’s learned by now: there’s no good answer to that question. It’s just the way he is.

She pulls one foot up onto the bench, wrapping her arms around her knee and hugging it to her chest. “The nights are the hardest,” she admits, her voice soft. “When it’s quiet... that’s when I have time to think about it. To imagine what I would have done if I’d been there, if I could have protected her.”

“It’s plenty likely you would have ended up dead, too, Scully,” he says. “It was a professional hit. Not a panicking suspect.”

“I know,” she says, “but reminding myself of that hasn’t helped so far.” He shifts on the bench beside her, and suddenly, his hand is heavy on her shoulder.

“Scully,” he says, his voice soft, unmistakably tender. She turns to look at him. “It wasn’t your fault.” Her eyes fill with tears, and she tries to look away before he can see, but when she speaks, she knows he can hear how close to the edge she is.

“You may be the only one who thinks so,” she says, hating herself for the weakness in her voice, the barely-contained sob. She’s always so close to tears these days.

“The dinners,” he says, and she jerks her head around to face him, shocked. “The Sunday dinners, right?” She nods.

“How do you know about that?” she asks.

“You’ve called your mom from the office on Friday afternoons to make Sunday dinner plans for years,” he says. “And for the past month, she’s had something come up every time you’ve called, some reason why she won’t be able to have you over this week.” He slides closer to her on the bench, tentatively, and slips his arm around her shoulders. “I know you think I don’t hear you, but I do. I’m always listening.” 

Ordinarily, Scully might have fought Mulder’s affection, shrugged his arm off, but right now, weakened by exhaustion and grief, it’s too easy to just give in. She leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder, as he brings his other hand up to brush her hair back off of her face and to gently cup her cheek.

“It’s not just the dinners,” she says, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “And it’s not just my mom. You were at the funeral, Mulder. You saw. My brothers on either side of my mother, all tight together, and me... off by myself.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I wanted to go to you, but... I didn’t think it would be appropriate. Not right then. So I waited.” And he had- until the graveside service had ended, and her mother and brothers had left her standing alone by the casket. Once the other mourners had departed, he’d materialized by her side, not touching her, just waiting for her to come to him, just as he had in the hospital. And eventually, she’d turned into his embrace, releasing the tears she’d kept locked inside until that point.

“I never thanked you for that,” she says. “You got me through that day... you were there when I needed you.” She looks up at him, and he keeps his hand at her cheek, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to her forehead, making her go warm all over.

It’s the first time she’s felt truly warm since Melissa’s death, and she doesn’t want it to end. She can tell, without saying a word, that Mulder understands just how she feels. 

“Come on, Scully,” he says, standing and pulling her to her feet, keeping his arm firmly around her shoulders. “Let’s go inside and see if we can’t get you to sleep, okay?” She nods and follows him into her room. Sitting on the edge of her unmade bed, she looks up at him, shyly.

“Can you-”

“Stay for awhile?” She nods, smiling in spite of herself at his ability to anticipate her. “Of course I can.” She crawls into her bed, and he pulls the blankets up and stretches out on top of them, next to her, close enough to hold her hand.

They’ve done this a couple of times before- once after the Donnie Pfaster incident, and once when a thunderstorm had brought on a flashback shortly after her abduction- and it always makes her feel better. She’s getting sleepy, in spite of herself. She looks over at Mulder, who is watching her with soft, concerned eyes.  
“Melissa was the only one in the family who really supported my decision to join the FBI,” she tells him. “She told me that it was my life, not my dad’s, and that if I followed my heart, it would take me to where I was supposed to be.”

“Sounds like something she would say,” says Mulder, smiling. Scully nods.

“There was one thing that she told me that really rings true now,” she continues. “That I realize more with each passing day.”

“What’s that?”

“She said that my life would be forever changed by the people I would meet.” She brings his hand to her lips and kisses it tenderly. “I wish I’d had the time to tell her that she had no idea how right she was.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "One more step, I dare you," and "Can you give me a hug? Just once?"

At first, he thinks it's the thunderstorm that's woken him up, which would be a reasonable assumption- it's one of the worst he's ever seen. DC's spring storms have nothing on Florida's. But as he lies totally still in his hotel room, in between the crashes of thunder, he becomes aware of another sound through the hotel wall, coming from the room next door. A series of high, keening sobs, reaching a shrieking crescendo as a sustained flash of lightning whites out his vision, and that's all it takes for him to rocket out of his bed. He grabs his glasses from the nightstand and his gun from his holster... and after a half-second's thought, he yanks on the sweatpants he'd earlier discarded at the foot of the bed.

The connecting door is unlocked, which both surprises him (she's a federal agent and that's an awful lot of trust she's displaying in him) and relieves him (at least the hotel's not going to have to bill the FBI because of damage to property). The lights on the other side are off, the bed is empty, and in the next flash of lightning, he sees her. She's crouched in the far corner of the room, half-hidden behind a chair- and her gun is pointed directly at him.

"One more step, I dare you," she says, in a voice that shakes just as violently as the hand clutching her weapon. Very slowly, he reaches out and places his own gun on the nightstand to his left and raises his hands so that she can see that they're empty.

"Agent Scully," he says, in a slow, calm voice, "I'm not going to hurt you." He can see from here that there's no recognition in her face, only panic, and he knows, instantly, what's going on. "It's Walter Skinner," he says. "You're in a hotel room in Orlando, Florida. We're attending a conference. There's a thunderstorm outside, but you are not in any danger." She lowers her gun slightly. Encouraged, he takes a cautious step towards her.

"That's not right," she says, her voice wavering. "Where's Mulder?" Pure panic overtakes her face again, and she raises the gun. Skinner stops moving. "What have you done with him?"

"Agent Mulder is back in DC," Skinner says. "He's home sick with the flu." Scully closes her eyes and takes a deep, ragged breath. "Scully," says Skinner, lowering his voice, "everything is all right. You're safe. There's nobody in this room except you and me, and I promise, I'm not going to hurt you." He takes another step. "I promise. You are safe." Her head lowers with a heartbreaking sob, and the arm holding the gun falls to her side. Intuiting that the danger has passed, Skinner goes to her- still moving slowly- and helps her to her feet. He leads her to the bed, where she sits, her head in her hands, and he places her gun on the nightstand alongside his own. He turns on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a dim, orange glow. After a moment's hesitation- he's not sure what Scully would deem "appropriate"- he sits next to her.

She's trembling so hard that the bed is shaking. He doesn't need her to tell him what's happened, but he knows from experience that what helps or doesn't help is different from one person to the next, so he _does_ need her to tell him what to do.

"Dana," he says gently, "how can I help?" She shakes her head violently. "Come on," he cajoles her. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. I just want to make it better for you, all right?" She peers up at him, and he nods encouragingly.

"Can you... I'm sorry, Sir, I know this is inappropriate-"

"Don't worry about that," he reassures her.

"Can you give me a hug?" she asks, looking at the carpet instead of at his face. "Just once?"

"Of course," he says. He slides closer to her on the bed, still moving slowly to keep from spooking her, and takes her in his arms. She's stiff at first, still trembling fiercely, but as he holds her she calms, until after what feels like forever to him (but is, in reality, probably more like a minute), she's no longer shaking. She pushes him away gently, and takes a long, shuddering breath.

"Thanks," she says softly, still not looking at him. 

"Don't mention it," he says. "Do you have them often? The flashbacks?" She jerks her head up to look at them, eyes wide. 

"How do you know-"

"That that's what was going on?" She nods. "I have them, too." He laughs mirthlessly. "Me and at least half the Vietnam vets still alive and kicking. They're not anywhere near as frequent as they used to be, though."

"Not for me, either," she admits. "In fact, it's been months." She gestures towards the window, where lightning continues to flash. "It's the storm causing it. The lightning... it makes me think I'm back...." She waves her hand vaguely. "Wherever I was when I was abducted."

"I thought Mulder said you didn't remember any of that," Skinner says.

"I don't, not really. But I do know that wherever it was, there were bright, flashing lights."

"What do you usually do when it happens?" asks Skinner curiously. It's clear to him, from what's just transpired, that Scully requires outside help to pull herself out of the waking nightmare. He's got a pretty good idea of who that someone usually is... and Scully's blush confirms it. "Mulder?" She looks away from him. "Come on, Dana, I'm not looking to get you into trouble." She looks up at him out of the corner of her eye and nods.

"He's a bad sleeper," she says. "He come and calms me down when he hears me. It's why I left the connecting door open tonight. Force of habit."

"And how about at home? The nights you're not together?" Her mouth drops open, and suddenly, she looks terrified.

"Sir," she says, "I know the rumors, I know everyone assumes that we're... that Agent Mulder and I are... but that's all they are, is rumors. Stories. More ways for people to discredit us."

"Dana," Skinner says gently, "I saw you." She pales visibly.

"Where?" she whispers. He can understand her fear- they've been careful, Skinner knows. They stand a little closer than most at work, it's true, but it's been that way since the beginning. They've always been in their own, impenetrable little bubble... but there's never even the suggestion that something more might be going on. He's walked into their basement office and felt that energy between them, sure, but caught them in a delicate moment? Never. Discretion is a language in which both of them are exceedingly fluent.

“My sister was in town last month,” he says. “She dragged me to the symphony. You and Mulder were sitting maybe ten rows in front of us.” She covers her face with her hands. “I saw him kiss you. And, well... it didn’t look like the first time. But Dana, listen: I don’t care what you and Mulder do in your free time. I don’t care whether the bureau says I’m _supposed_ to care. You and Mulder watch each other’s backs, you get your work done, your solve rate is way better than any of my other agents, and you hand me receipts for two separate hotel rooms every time you take a case out of town. Beyond that, what you do is your own business.” She risks a look at him and finds him smiling.

“At home... if he’s not at my apartment, and I’m not at his... he usually just drives over if a storm blows through,” she admits. “Sometimes he checks the weather forecast.” She grins sheepishly. “Before this year... before we were together... he used to just stretch out on my couch if he got there and I was sleeping through it. I’d wake up and find him out there in the morning.” _This_ year? Skinner tries not to show his surprise. He’s been assuming they were an item for a _lot_ longer than that. “Can I ask... what do you do? When one of these flashbacks hits you?”

“I have a list of phone numbers taped to every phone in my house,” he says. “Old army buddies, mostly. I go down the list until I find someone who’s home, and they talk me through it.” Scully opens her mouth to respond, but she’s interrupted by the trill of her cell phone, lying on the nightstand. Skinner picks it up and hands it to her. He’s sitting close enough that when she answers it, he can hear Mulder’s voice on the other end, asking if she’s all right.

“I was checking the forecasts online,” Skinner hears him say, “and I saw you were getting a storm down there.” Scully grins and looks at Skinner bashfully.

“Mulder, you’re supposed to be sleeping,” she says. “You’re sick.” Skinner stands- clearly Mulder will be taking it from here.

“Gonna go,” he whispers. “Goodnight.” Scully glances up.

“Mulder, hang on a second,” she says, and lowers the phone. “Sir, that list you mentioned? The numbers you call when it happens to you?”

“Yeah?” She smiles.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like you to add mine.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The request was for the scene at the symphony, mentioned in the previous chapter, where Skinner witnesses Mulder and Scully kissing.

Evie doesn’t visit often- once every couple of years, at the most- so whenever she’s in town, Skinner lets her dictate their agenda, regardless of whether what she wants to do is something he’s going to enjoy… which is how he’s found himself at the Kennedy Center this Saturday evening, getting ready to listen to the Reykjavik Symphony Orchestra perform a program of modern music.

He’d rather have his eyeballs gouged out with a rusty spoon.

But he’s never been able to deny his sister, nearly ten years his junior, much of anything, so he’d dutifully procured the tickets (orchestra seats, even), dry-cleaned his tux, and made reservations at a four-star restaurant for dinner before the show.

The meal, at least, is something that Skinner enjoys thoroughly. Fine dining isn’t something he’s done much, since Sharon left, and he doesn’t get the chance to go on many dates. The food is amazing, the wine even more so, and there’s a brief moment, on the way back to his car, that Skinner considers faking indigestion so that they can end the night on a high note. But Evie’s face is shining with excitement, and Skinner can’t bring himself to disappoint her.

So here he is, escorting his little sister to their seats in the nineteenth row. As she’s squealing (quietly, thankfully) over how amazing their view is going to be, Skinner spies two very familiar heads, bent towards each other in conversation, perhaps five rows in front of him. The darker brown hair could belong to anyone, of course, but there’s no mistaking the brilliant red tresses at his side. Skinner wonders what on earth Mulder and Scully are doing here- this doesn’t have anything to do with a case, does it?

He’s on the verge of getting up and speaking to them, maybe introducing them to Evie, who’s heard the occasional tale of their exploits from her brother, when suddenly, Scully reaches up, winds her fingers through the back of Mulder’s hair, and pulls him down for a long, tender kiss. Skinner goes totally still, feeling, in spite of the entire auditorium full of people around him, as though he’s intruding on a very private moment.

Ahead of him, Mulder and Scully pull apart, share a brief, intimate smile, and then carry on their conversation as though nothing had interrupted them.

Not their first kiss, then, clearly.

If Skinner were a betting man, he’s well aware that he could make himself a tidy bundle with this newfound knowledge, come Monday morning… but no. He’ll keep this to himself. They’ve managed to be discrete for years; he can afford them the same courtesy.

However, as he settles back into his seat to suffer through the performance, he feels a curious sense of solidarity with Mulder. He’s relatively certain that he’s not the only man who’s sitting through a program of modern music because of a lovely woman to whom he can never say no.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Turn that damn thing off."

"Turn that damn thing off."

The request- demand, really- comes from somewhere to Mulder's right, where a lump of blankets indicates where Scully is curled up. He's been watching the weather report, the local news, a basketball game he doesn't care about, _any_ thing to distract him from the reality of the situation.

"Sure, Scully," he says, and switches off the TV. Silence and darkness descend around them as he settles back against his pillow.

She is too close. Much, much too close. He can smell her shampoo, her lotion, her vanilla body wash from the shower she'd taken before retiring. The room is chilly, but he's resolutely staying on top of the covers- if he can feel her warmth any more than he already can, he'll crack.

He hasn't been this surrounded by her essence since the last time.

Next to him, Scully rolls onto her back with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she says in a weary voice. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that."

"It's been a long day," he says with a shrug. "We're both tired."

"That doesn't give me the right to be rude." She rolls on her side, facing him. "It's just... weird, you know?" He does know. "A little awkward."

It's more than just a _little_ awkward, by his estimations, but he lets it go. His stomach had clenched at the realization that they would be sharing a room tonight, and her face had said all to clearly that she hadn't been any more thrilled with the situation than he was. But she, at least, could take comfort in the knowledge that everything that had brought this awkwardness about had been his doing, not hers. 

It had been _his_ idea in the first place, after all.

"Just once, Scully. Just to... just to see." Those had been his words. "And if it doesn't work, we never speak of it again." As though it would be that easy to dam up the floodgates once they'd finally been unleashed.

It hadn't been just once.

One night of sad, soothing lovemaking in her apartment after the loss of his father, of her sister. Fifteen desperate minutes of fumbling against the wall in a hospital stairwell moments after making sure that Robert Patrick Modell was in a coma and no longer a threat. A hard, angry fuck on top of the desk- _his_ desk, she'd pointed out during, nearly ending the entire interlude- following her trip to Philadelphia. After that, she'd said no more, and he'd agreed, they'd promised each other... and had broken that promise, amidst gasps of pain from her and tears from him, while a DOD employee had lain dead in Mulder's apartment and a tumor had ravaged Scully's brain.

She'd made overtures again, tentatively, right after Diana had reappeared, and in his shock at losing the X-Files, at having their office torched, he'd shot her down cold. She hadn't tried again. She'd pretended their almost-kiss in the hallway outside of his apartment hadn't happened, and he can't really blame her. He'd turned her down, he'd wounded her pride, and he knows her well enough to assume she won't be trying again anytime soon.

"Scully," he says quietly, "I'm sorry." 

"This isn't your fault, Mulder," she says. "You didn't ask for a cow to fall through the ceiling."

"I don't mean that," he says, and immediately, her face, just visible to him in the streetlight from the window, tenses and becomes fearful. "I mean for what happened last summer. After the fire." She doesn't meet his gaze, and he reaches out and touches her chin, making her face him. "I just... every time we've been together, Scully, it's been because we were grieving, or angry, or afraid... and if we'd been together like that again, last summer, it would have been more of the same. You and me using sex to escape what's going on around us. And I don't want it to be like that, Scully." He brushes the hair back off of her face and cups her cheek tenderly. "I want to make love to you for no other reason than to show you how much I love you." Her eyes widen. "And I couldn't do that then. Not with our work lying in ashes and our future together so uncertain." Scully reaches up and covers his hand with hers, pulling his fingers to her lips and kissing each one in turn.

"There's nothing for us to escape right now, Mulder," she whispers, and that's all the encouragement he needs to close the gap between them and press his lips to hers.

He's immediately regretful of his decision to lie on top of the covers, because it's just one more obstacle between them, and he's had his fill of being kept from her. They fumble and jerk at the comforter and the sheets until they're ripped away, until it's only their clothing that separates them, and that, too, is unceremoniously discarded on the floor of the hotel room.

Her body, bared to him, is somehow more beautiful than it's ever been before. She had been so painfully thin the last time, battered and bruised the time before that. Their clothes had stayed on out of necessity in the hospital stairwell... and that very first time, she had been so shy and scared, so vulnerable in her grief, that she hadn't even permitted him to see her.

Now, she lets him gaze his fill, lets him drink in the sight of her, and her beauty intoxicates him. He worships every inch of her skin with his fingers and with his lips, driving her into a frenzy until she's clutching at him, dragging him up to completely cover her body with his. He slides into her in a haze of ecstasy, both of them moaning and gasping at the sudden sense of completion.

Absent the fear, the anger, the grief and the despair that have characterized their other couplings, making love to her is a completely new experience. Her eyes remain open and locked on his the entire time, both of them refusing to retreat from the intensity, to hide from the powerful emotions that are now fully on display. Even as she climaxes, she doesn't break the spell between them, and the love in her eyes nearly brings him to tears. He shudders and gasps and pours into her, crying her name as she soothes him with gentle hands along his shoulders and spine.

After, he's afraid, for a moment, that she'll close herself off, put the walls back up and retreat behind them, away from the sheer power of what they've created between them... but she doesn't. She cradles his head to her chest, stroking his hair tenderly. He's just beginning to doze off when he hears her speak.

"If you're right," she murmurs, "we probably owe Holman Hardt a thank-you note."

"For what?" Mulder asks, propping himself up enough to look at her.

"For the cow," Scully says, smiling. Mulder grins back at her.

"Cows from above," he says. "A bona-fide act of divine- or should I say _bovine_ intervention." She groans at the joke.

"Mulder, that's terrible."

"I mean, talk about your sacred cows, am I right?" She reaches over and grabs a pillow, smacking Mulder on the head with it.

"Go to sleep, Mulder," she says.

"What, you don't think this was a moo-ving experience?"

" _Mulder,_ " she warns him, "if you want this experience to be repeated- in the morning, for example-" But he's snuggled back up before she can finish the sentence.

"Good night, Scully," he says. "Sleep tight."

"Good night, Mulder."

"Don't let the mad cows bite."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The request was for Mulder taking care of and comforting a sick or vulnerable Scully. Set immediately after "Irresistible."

She stands frozen in the motel bathroom, unable to make herself walk towards the bathtub along the far wall. It’s like an open mouth threatening to swallow her whole, to finish the job that Donnie Pfaster had begun, hours before.

Scully had hoped hard that the motel would have rooms with just shower stalls, but they’d had no such luck, and she doesn’t want to go out into the room where Mulder is waiting and ask him to leave and find a different place to stay the night. If she does, he’ll want to know why, and the last thing she wants is for him to know how deeply all of this is still affecting her. It’s bad enough that she’d broken down in his arms at Pfaster’s house; she’s not willing for him to know she’s in here losing her mind over a bathtub.

 _You have to get clean_ , she tells herself sternly. _You will feel much better once you’ve washed the dirt and blood out of your hair._ She takes a single, tentative step towards the tub, and immediately, her chest seizes up and she can’t breathe. The tightness in her lungs is painful, she’s lightheaded immediately, and she sinks back against the closed bathroom door with a loud _thunk_.

In seconds, Mulder is right outside, knocking at the door. “Scully? You okay in there?” She opens her mouth to call out yes, she’s fine, everything’s fine, stay out there, but her voice is strangled in her throat. She can’t draw enough breath to get the words out. “Scully?” Mulder’s sounding panicked now. She gives him about fifteen more seconds until he breaks the door down, and it’s the thought of having to explain to Skinner why the FBI is being billed for a destroyed bathroom doorframe that finally forces her to move. 

Scully wraps a towel tightly around herself and unlocks the door. She opens it and steps back, looking down, still trying to force air into her stubborn, traitorous lungs, knowing that the moment she looks up at his face, he’ll see it in her eyes.

“The, uh....” She takes a deep breath, managing to keep it from sounding like a gasp. “The shower wouldn’t turn on.” She risks a look at his face to find he’s frowning at her skeptically. He crosses the bathroom, leans over and flicks the tap, which, of course, works immediately. But the deep booming of the water rushing into the tub sets Scully off again, and before she can stop herself she’s backed against the wall, sinking down to the floor. She’s dimly aware that her towel is slipping, but she can’t bring herself to care.

“Turn it off,” she hisses, and Mulder hastens to comply. He crouches down in front of her, concern written all over his face. He doesn’t need to ask what the problem is; he went through Pfaster’s entire house before they’d left the scene. He saw the tub that had been prepared for her. He reaches out and gently fixes her towel where it’s begun to gap at the bottom.

“Tell me what to do, Scully,” he urges her, his voice low and soothing. “How can I help?” She shakes her head.

“You can’t,” she says. “I wanted... I just wanted to shower, that’s all... but... I just froze.” She covers her face, ashamed, but Mulder’s having none of that. He reaches out and takes her hand.

“Scully,” he says, “there’s absolutely nothing for you to be embarrassed about here. I told you before, agents with way more experience in the field than you have folded on cases like this- and that’s without any of them having actually been abducted by the killer.”

“I just wanted to get clean,” she whispers, and she hates how weak her voice sounds. Mulder nods. He looks around, and, standing, he takes a small stack of washcloths down from the rack above the toilet. He reaches down and takes her hand, pulling her to her feet.

“How about this?” he suggests, leading her out of the bathroom. The motel room is the sort that has the tub and toilet in the bathroom proper, with a sink and vanity in a little area off the rest of the room. “You can fill up the sink and use the washcloths to bathe.” He shuts the bathroom door behind him. “You won’t even have to look at the bathtub at all. And if you want, I’ll go to my room and give you some privacy.”

“No!” The cry is out of her mouth before she can stop it, and she blushes. “I mean... you don’t have to go.” She hunches her shoulders. “I’m not ready to... I don’t want to....”

“You don’t want to be alone?” There’s no judgement in his voice, only kindness, and she nods. “Well... I’m not ready to leave you alone, so that works for me.” And looking at his face, at the fear that hasn’t yet fully left his eyes, she realizes: this has shaken him badly. He had to have been terrified when she’d gone missing, so soon after the last time.

“Okay,” she says. “It’s a good idea.” He nods and gives the hand he’s still holding a squeeze, then releases it.

“I’ll be right over here watching TV,” he says, and he leaves her to it.

Scully gets herself cleaned up quickly, taking extra care with the bruised and abraded patches, and she immediately begins to feel better. Once her body has been scrubbed clean, though, she’s presented with a problem: her hair. In order to wash it, she’ll have to somehow get her entire head into the sink, and it’s not very deep. She’s not sure how she’ll be able to rinse out the shampoo without dumping water over her head, and she’s likely to make a mess.

“Everything okay?” calls Mulder from his place on the bed. She wraps the towel back around herself and goes out to him.

“Yeah,” she says. “I think I’m just going to have to skip my hair, though. I can’t figure out how to do it without soaking the carpet.” Mulder looks thoughtful.

“I could help you, if you want,” he suggests, and as Scully blanches, he backtracks. “But if not, that’s okay,” he says quickly. “If it would make you uncomfortable-”

“It’s not that,” she says. “It’s just... _he_ wanted to wash my hair.” Mulder nods, thinking. “I’m not sure how I’ll do with someone else doing it.”

“What if I talked to you, the whole time?” he offers tentatively. “So you would know it was me.” He goes over to the table by the window and seizes one of the chairs there, dragging it over. “You can sit in this, on a couple of pillows, and lean back against the counter. That way you can see my face the whole time.” Scully bites her lip, thinking, weighing the possibility of panicking with the potential relief of getting the blood and dirt out of her hair. And even if she does lose it, she realizes, Mulder isn’t going to judge her for it. She takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” she agrees. Mulder takes the pillows from the bed and puts them on the seat of the chair. He folds a towel and lays it across the counter to cushion her neck, and unwraps one of the plastic drinking cups from the counter. Scully sits down gingerly and leans back as he runs the water, fiddling with the hot and cold taps until he’s got the temperature right.

“Remember, you’re supposed to keep talking,” she prompts him, and he smiles down at her.

“My mom used to do this for me when I was a kid,” he tells her, as he uses the drinking cup to wet the hair around her hairline. “I swam all the time- in the ocean during the summer, in the pool for swim team the rest of the year- and I was _always_ getting ear infections. So my mom would have me lie across the kitchen counter and she’d wash my hair in the sink to keep the water out of my ear.” He squeezes her shampoo onto his hand and begins to work up a lather. The scent wafts into her nostrils, and for a moment, her chest begins to constrict again. She trains her eyes on his face and does not look away.

 _This is Mulder_ , she tells herself. _Mulder, who would never hurt you, who cares for you deeply, who doesn’t want to let you out of his sight tonight because he was so frightened of losing you._ Gradually, her breathing returns to normal, and Mulder smiles encouragingly at her.

“Samantha, on the other hand, almost _never_ got ear infections,” he continues, rinsing the shampoo out of her hair, studiously guarding her eyes with his other hand. “She didn’t do swim team, though, so she had less exposure to the water than I did. One time, though....” He smiles wryly. “She did get one, after a nasty cold. And my mother, for one reason or another, was out for the evening, and it was bath time, so I figured I’d wash her hair for her.” He rubs conditioner on his hands and spreads it through her hair, massaging her scalp in a way that has her nearly groaning with pleasure. “I had her lie on the counter, just like I always did... only, her hair was long, unlike mine, and I never thought to make sure to keep her hair out of the drain. It got caught in the gears of the garbage disposal, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t work it free.” He rinses out the conditioner. “So I went for the kitchen scissors, and... well... let’s just say our mother had to take Sam the the hairdresser’s first thing in the morning to fix the worst haircut she ever had.” Scully laughs, and most of the remaining tension leaves her chest.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t tell me that story _before_ you offered to do this,” she says. “I might not have agreed.” Mulder laughs.

“Nah, there’s no garbage disposal in this sink,” Mulder says. He turns the water off and hands Scully a dry towel. “Okay, you’re all done.” She sits up and dries her hair off, smiling at him gratefully, shyly.

“Thank you,” she says. “I know hair-washing doesn’t really fall into the list of expectations partners should have for each other.” Mulder’s expression softens, and he reaches for her hand.

“Scully,” he says, “you can expect me to have your back, always. No matter what that entails. You need me to cover you while you’re charging in to save the day? You got it. You need me to play beauty shop late at night in a cheap motel room?” He reaches over, towel in hand, and catches a stream of water dripping from her hair down her neck before it reaches her shoulder. “I’m there. Whatever you need, Scully, I wanna be there for you. Always.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: More platonic Scully/Skinner friendship. This topic is going to end up as its own series, with all the requests I'm getting.

Walter Skinner’s father brought him up with a collection of strict values, chief among them: work hard, own your mistakes, never pick on anyone smaller or weaker than yourself, and, at all times, and in all company: _respect women_.

Skinner’s mother Ethel had been one of many proud and hardworking “Rosie the Riveters” during the war, while Skinner’s father had been at sea in the Pacific. But unlike many of her fellow workers, when the war had ended and the men had returned, rather than heading back to run her household, Ethel had switched from building bombers to building cars, taking time off only to give birth to Walter, his older brother Daniel, and his younger sister Evie. Walter’s father, a man ahead of his time, had been fully supportive of his wife’s desire to work.

“A woman can do almost anything a man can do,” Lloyd Skinner had told his sons. “You talk to a woman the same way you would a man. You don’t treat her like she’s any less smart, any less capable. Above all, you _respect_ her. If you wouldn’t want something said about your ma or your sister, don’t you _dare_ ever say it to- or about- another woman.”

Maybe it makes Skinner a little less popular among the boys’ club at the bureau, his reluctance to join in on all the locker room talk about the various physical attributes of the handful of female agents walking the halls, his distaste for the practice of ranking the secretarial pool according to attractiveness. He doesn’t care, as long as he can look his female subordinates in the eye, as long as they know they won’t be met with contempt from him, should they need to file a complaint against a male co-worker. He never wants any of his agents to think his motivations for assigning or not assigning cases are based in anything other than competence.

He’s heard of the betting pool, of course. In fact, he’s pretty sure its existence predates Mulder and Scully being assigned to him. Certainly the agents perpetuating it know better than to mention it within earshot of him… but he almost wishes they would, sometimes, so that he can dress them down over it.

He’s never wished for that more than at this moment, though, standing by Scully’s hospital bed, because he knows that soon enough, a new betting pool is going to spring up, and this time, his agent is going to be left to deal with it on her own.

Even in the midst of his shock, as he looks down at Scully, her eyes full of tears, her emotions at war on her face, it’s his first thought: _The gossip pool is going to have a field day with this._ And then he’s immediately ashamed that _this_ is his first concern. He’s relatively certain the issue’s not causing so much as a blip on _her_ radar. She’s got more important things to worry about.

He doesn’t ask her who the father is; he doesn’t need to. And in any case, such a question goes directly against his father’s edict of respect. Even if he weren’t more or less certain about her child’s parentage, it’s not his business. All that he needs to concern himself with is what she needs from him- both as her boss, and as her friend.

He reaches out and takes her hand, and is encouraged when she doesn’t immediately jerk away. She brushes the tears from her eyes, embarrassed to be caught in such a display of emotion.

“Dana,” he says, “what can I do to help you?” She gives him a shaky smile. She reminds him of his mother sometimes, with her take-no-prisoners, no-nonsense attitude, her glares that can freeze grown men in their tracks from half a room away… but right now she’s scared, vulnerable, and doing everything she can to hide it.

“Exactly what you’ve told me you’ll do,” she tells him. “I need you to help me find him.”

“I will, Dana,” he swears, squeezing her hand. “I promise you that.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are all "five sentence" prompts, where I was sent the first sentence and had to write five more after it. They're all in one chapter because they're too short to post alone, but they are not at all related.

“Scully, this meteor shower will be lit.”

Scully looks up from where she’s reading on the couch, her eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Mulder,” she says, “you have _got_ to stop trying to use teenager slang to sound cool.”

“Tell me about it,” says Will, pounding down the stairs from his room, a folding camp chair tucked under his arm.

“Hey, it got you out of your room to join me, didn’t it?” Mulder retorts, throwing open the front door. “Now grab your telescope and meet me in the yard.”

 

\----------------------------------

 

Scully opened the door to Mulder’s apartment and stopped in her tracks.

“Mulder,” she said, eyes popped wide, “what is _that_?”

“Scully, I promise you, I did _not_ order this,” Mulder tells her. “It came as a free gift when I renewed my Penthouse subscription!”

“And I’m honestly supposed to believe that it’s purely _coincidence_ that it’s got red hair?” Scully demands, arms crossed, and Mulder blushes.

“Now, Scully,” he says, “why on earth would I order a blow-up doll when I could have the real thing instead?”

 

\----------------------------------

 

“Mulder, isn’t it supposed to get harder than this?” asks Scully, frowning down at the book of advanced Sudoku Mulder had given her to while away the drive. Mulder rolls his eyes.

“Oh, look at me, I’m Dana-I’m-a-medical-doctor-Scully, and I laugh in the face of Sudoku that would flummox lesser mortals!” says Mulder in a ridiculous falsetto. 

“Fine, Mulder, since you won’t tell me _why_ it’s so important that you finish this book by the end of our case, and since you insist on making fun of me, you can finish this book yourself when we get to the hotel,” says Scully, and Mulder immediately looks panicked.

“I, uh… I sort of bet Frohike I could finish that whole book in forty-eight hours,” Mulder confesses.

“Well, then,” says Scully, looking smug, “you’d better keep your mouth shut unless you want me to tell Melvin that you cheated.”

 

\----------------------------------

 

“Scully, where did you learn how to do THAT?” asks Mulder breathlessly, as Scully’s head re-appears over the edge of the bed.

“Haven’t you heard what they say about Catholic girls, Mulder?” she asks sweetly, wiping the corner of her mouth with one seductive swipe of her thumb. “We get an awful lot of practice at that sort of thing while we’re busy saving ourselves for marriage.” Mulder reaches forward and grabs her under her arms, yanking her up onto the bed and flipping her onto her back as she squeals in surprise.

“Well, I can’t claim to have had the same sort of schooling on the Vineyard,” says Mulder, sliding down her body, kissing her exposed skin as he goes. “But I’m open to furthering my education, if you’re willing to make some suggestions.”

 

\----------------------------------

 

The thunder boomed outside, the heavy rain pelted at his window, the lights flickered as the lightning crashed, and suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Mulder startled awake on the couch, and as the knock sounded again, he climbed over Scully’s sleeping form, being careful not to wake her.

“Fox,” Diana said loudly, striding in the moment Mulder opens the door, “I really need to talk to you about what happened with- what, why are you shushing me?”

“Mulder,” comes Scully’s sleepy voice from the living room, “who’s at the door?”

“Just someone who has the wrong apartment,” Mulder calls back, and Diana’s face hardens.

“Yes, it would appear so,” she says coldly, before turning and striding briskly away. 

 

\----------------------------------

 

“Mulder, are you telling me that you had names for each of my breasts _before_ we had ever slept together?!” Scully exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in bed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Well, yeah,” Mulder says, shrugging apologetically. “This one is Venus-” he slides a finger under her arm to poke at her left nipple- “and this one is Aphrodite.” He repeats the gesture on her right nipple, and Scully frowns at him.

“Mulder,” she says, “those are just two different names for the same deity.”

“I know, Scully,” he explains, “but I could never work out which one I liked more, so I decided to give them the same name.”

 

\----------------------------------

 

“Scully, I swear to God, if you sneeze one more time-”

“Well, Mulder,” Scully retorts, rubbing her quickly-reddening nose, “if you hadn’t spilled the pepper shaker all over the table, I wouldn’t be sneezing so much.

“And if you hadn’t reached across the table and grabbed my drink, I wouldn’t have grabbed it back and hit the pepper shaker,” Mulder fires back.

“And if _you_ hadn’t almost knocked your drink over, I wouldn’t have had to grab it to keep it from spilling!” says Scully.

“And if YOU hadn’t been playing footsie with me under the table, I wouldn’t have startled and my hand wouldn’t have hit my water glass!” says Mulder, and Scully arches an eyebrow at him.

“Mulder, are you really complaining that I was stroking your calf with my foot?” she asks, and Mulder, instantly chastised, hastily sweeps the spilled pepper off of the table and onto his plate.

 

\----------------------------------

 

“Why the hell do you still have that?” demands Mulder, shoving the box labelled “Bedroom-Scully” across the floor with a huff.

“Because, Mulder,” Scully says, dragging the box over to the dresser and beginning to transfer its contents into the drawers they’ve agreed will be hers, “you’re not home _all_ the time, and sometimes I get a little lonely when you’re gone.”

“You could just call me at my hotel,” grumbles Mulder, sitting on the end of the bed, arms crossed.

“And wouldn’t it be nice if I had something like that handy _while_ I was talking to you?” Scully asks, turning to face him. “Besides, there are ways I can use it while I’m with _you_ , as well,” she continues, and now Mulder looks interested.

“Show me,” he says, and she does.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short ficlet off the first-sentence prompt: “Will, that’s the garbage disposal, it’s not a monster.”

“Will, that’s the garbage disposal, it’s not a monster.”

“Well-”

“Mulder, _shut it_.”

“The sink does lead down into the sewer lines, Scully, and there was that one time… with the fluke man….” Will, nestled tightly in his mother’s arms, where he’s been ever since Mulder had turned on the garbage disposal, looks up at his father, his eyes wide and tearful.

“Moster?” he asks, his tiny voice cracking with fear. “Moster inna sink, Daddy?”

“No, Will,” Scully croons, holding him close. “No monsters in the sink. Where’d you hear that word, Sweetie?” At sixeen months, Will is miles ahead of his peers in speech development, but the pages of the books aimed at his age level tend to be populated with bunnies, bears, and puppies, rather than monsters, and Scully, who’s had more than her fill of monsters already, hasn’t exactly sought out books that feature them… and she’s got her suspicions as to where her son has learned that word. They’re confirmed as Will lifts one chubby arm and points at his father.

“Daddy,” he says guilelessly. “Daddy telled me stories. About mosters.” Scully whirls on Mulder.

“What are you doing, reading him our old case files at bedtime?” she demands.

“No, honest! I just… uh… I got him some different books, that’s all. You know, ‘Go Away, Big Green Monster’ and ‘Where the Wild Things Are.’ It’s not like I’m reading him Stephen King, Scully.” Scully glares at him a moment longer before turning sharply on her heel and carrying Will out of the kitchen.

“If he has nightmares tonight,” she calls, over her shoulder, “ _you’re_ going to be the one getting up with him.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short ficlet off the first-sentence prompt: “Scully, please teach me how to use Twitter. Nothing makes sense anymore.”

“Scully, please teach me how to use Twitter. Nothing makes sense anymore.” Scully glances up from her laptop at Mulder, who’s leaning back in his chair with his feet kicked up on the desk, frowning at his phone.

“Mulder,” she sighs, “do you remember what happened when you discovered Pinterest? All I heard about for days were ‘natural’ cures for everyday ailments that have absolutely no basis in science. And you _still_ haven’t finished half the repurposing projects you’ve got strewn all over the basement.”

“I’m getting to them, Scully,” he promises. “It’s just that the people who posted those tutorials make it seem a lot easier than it really is.”

“And how about when you got my nephew to teach you how to use Snapchat?” she continues. “Skinner couldn’t look either of us in the eye for _weeks_.”

“In my defense,” Mulder argues, “your names _are_ right next to each other, and I didn’t have my reading glasses. Just be glad I didn’t accidentally send that picture to your brother instead.”

“And then,” Scully steamrollers on, “there was the Facebook debacle. How many times did I get up in the middle of the night and find you arguing politics on your computer with some idiot you went to middle school with? Mulder, you are _never_ going to change someone’s mind in a Facebook debate.”

“I wasn’t arguing to try and change _his_ mind, Scully,” Mulder says. “I know he’s an idiot. I was arguing for the benefit of people who might be reading who haven’t made up their minds about the issue yet.” Scully rolls her eyes.

“One way or another, Mulder,” she sighs, “I am not teaching you how to Tweet. The last thing I need is Skinner finding out that one of his agents has gotten into a Twitter war with the moron from that ‘Ancient Aliens’ show.” Mulder opens his mouth to respond, and Scully holds up her hand, forestalling him. “Let’s face it, Mulder,” she says, turning back to her work. “Social media just isn’t for you.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Can you write a short but hot fic/Drabble where mama Scully walks in on/interrupts MSR?"

Scully has rules about sleepovers on school nights.

At first, she’d tried to forbid it outright, reasoning that even if Mulder doesn’t need much sleep, she does, and he keeps her up late enough as it is when they’re on the road. But she’d quickly discovered, once the dam had burst and she and Mulder were finally allowed to indulge in the pleasures they’d denied themselves for so long, that limiting themselves to weekends only simply was not an option.

So, weeknight sleepovers are permitted, but with the strict provisions that all work-related tasks are completed before any clothing hits the floor, and that Mulder allows Scully to go to sleep by midnight. Mulder had put up a fuss at first, but Scully had held firm, and over the past month, they’ve developed a productive, enjoyable routine that has yielded an equally high number of finished reports and orgasms.

Tonight, however, Mulder seems to be intent on breaking at least one of Scully’s rules. The report that Skinner is expecting on his desk in the morning is less than half finished, but that’s not stopping Mulder’s fingers from sneaking repeatedly under the hem of Scully’s t-shirt to play up and down her ribs.

“Mulder,” Scully chides, slapping his fingers away for the fourth time in five minutes, “the more you distract me, the longer this is going to take. Is that what you want?”

“It’s not even six o’clock yet, Scully,” Mulder murmurs into her neck. “Early enough for me to distract you at least an hour, and still have time to finish the report before your self-imposed curfew.”

“And were you planning on eating dinner at some point?” Scully asks. “Because we’ll need at least an hour for that, as well.”

“Oh, I’m planning on eating,” Mulder says, his fingers stealing into the waistband of Scully’s jeans and straying towards the button in the front. “But I’d really have to be doing something wrong if it took me an entire hour.” Scully chuckles in spite of herself, and Mulder takes advantage of her distraction to pop open the button and pull down her zipper.

“Mulder,” she chastises him, pulling away. “Will you come on and focus, please?” She slides off of the couch, kneeling on the floor in front of the coffee table, instead. Mulder, incorrigible as ever, follows without hesitation, kneeling behind her.

“I _am_ focusing,” he says, sliding his hands up her ribcage towards her breasts, letting out a happy sound of appreciation when he discovers that she’d decided against a bra when she’d gotten changed after work. And God help her, she feels her resolve beginning to weaken as Mulder cups her breasts gently, running his fingertips over her nipples… but still, she tries one more time.

“There will be plenty of time for this,” she tells him, trying and failing to keep a tremor out of her voice, “later on, after our report is done.”

“There’s time for it now,” Mulder says, and something deep within Scully responds instantly to his sudden and commanding tone. She tries to turn around and face him, but he stops her. “Like this,” he growls in her ear, taking her hands and placing them together on the coffee table in front of her, holding them in place with one of his own. 

_Oh, God._

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, leaning her head back against his shoulder as he bites at her ear, at her neck, at her collarbone. With the hand not holding her wrists against the table, he lifts the hem of her t-shirt up and over her head, pulling it down her arms and over her hands before flinging it away. With her fly already undone, it’s not too difficult for Mulder to work her jeans down over her hips and yank them past her knees. The way he pulls at her panties, though, starts her worrying that he’s going to tear them before he manages to remove them one-handed… but when she reaches down to help him, he seizes her wrists again, roughly this time, and all but slams them onto the coffee table.

“ _No_ ,” he growls in her ear, and she whimpers as her entire body flushes with excitement. She hears him pulling down his own zipper, feels him wriggling against her, shoving cumbersome layers of fabric out of his way. There’s a breathless second of anticipation and then he’s there, suddenly, abruptly, with a hard snap of his hips against hers, and she cries out sharply as she’s shoved roughly against the coffee table. Mulder grunts appreciatively in her ear and bends to bite at her neck again, like a cat trying to get a grip on his mate.

The rhythm he sets up is bruising, almost brutal, just this side of painful, and it’s glorious. Scully tries, once, to work one hand free so that she can help herself along, but Mulder holds her fast.

“Uh-uh,” he says hoarsely, and Scully whimpers in frustration.

“I need to-” She gasps as he fucks her harder. “Let me-”

“Tell me what you need,” he orders. “Tell me, Scully.”

“Touch me,” she begs. “Please, Mulder, touch me.” The hand not holding her wrists in place snakes around her waist, down along the crease between her thigh and her stomach, to just above the place where he’s slamming in and out of her. His fingers circle her clit, gentle for scarcely a second before he begins to rub roughly, ruthlessly, the way she knows he’s seen her do at moments of extreme arousal, right before breaking apart. It’s perfect and exquisite and entirely too much to handle, and it takes less than a minute until she’s lost all restraint, crying out her release to what must be half her apartment building as Mulder bellows and empties himself into her with a final series of convulsive, shuddering thrusts.

“You see,” pants Mulder, as his breath finally begins to return, “we had enough time for that with plenty left over to finish our report. I therefore submit that your rule against sex before work is unnecessary.”

“You’re assuming that we’re both going to be awake enough to concentrate after this,” Scully says. She’s quickly becoming aware, as Mulder’s weight presses her into the coffee table, that she’s going to have one hell of a bruise along her pelvis… and possibly on the backs of her thighs. She’s about to ask him to let her up when a sudden rattle of keys and a creak of hinges sends her heart flying into her throat.

“Oh my goodness!” Maggie Scully’s startled voice elicits a startled, undignified yelp from Mulder, who leaps up and tries to make a break for Scully’s bedroom- forgetting, apparently, that his pants are still around his ankles, a fact that Scully assumes occurs to him at precisely the moment he trips and goes flying across the living room and into Scully’s kitchen chairs, knocking on over on its side.

Scully, meanwhile, makes a desperate grab for the afghan on the back of her couch as soon as she realizes just how far away Mulder had flung her clothing. She wraps it around herself and stands, trying very hard not to think about the sight that must have greeted her poor mother when she’d opened the door: Fox Mulder’s bare (albeit glorious) ass, draped ungracefully over her daughter, lying naked and pinned to her coffee table. But before she has time to steel herself to face Maggie, a loud groan from Mulder distracts her, and she rushes to his side.

“Mulder, are you all right?” she asks anxiously, as her partner tries valiantly to pull his jeans up with one hand while clutching his head with the other.

“That depends on your definition of ‘all right,’” he moans, as Scully lets go of the afghan clutched around her shoulders long enough to help Mulder get his pants back up. A sudden flutter of cloth to her left makes her jump, and she turns to see Maggie helpfully holding out her daughter’s discarded t-shirt, the corners of her mouth twitching with amusement. Scully gratefully pulls the shirt over her head, then crouches back down by Mulder, helping him into a sitting position. He’s keeping his head determinedly down, and at first, Scully thinks he might be injured… until she realizes, suddenly, that he’s simply doing his absolute best to avoid looking at her mother. Maggie, bless her, seems to realize this, as well.

“So,” she says, laughter playing at the edge of her voice, “I’m guessing that you forgot that we had plans for dinner tonight, if you weren’t away on a case?” Scully nods, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

“Mom, I’m sorry,” she says. “I honestly didn’t even think we’d be back in town as quickly as we were, and I just-”

“Dana, it’s fine,” Maggie assures her. “I’m going to go out in the hallway and give you- both of you- a chance to get yourselves together. And when you’re ready, Fox, I’d very much like you to join Dana and I.” Mulder ventures a glance up, smiling sheepishly.

“Sure, Mrs. Scully,” he says, and Maggie leaves. Mulder groans heavily and flops back down onto the floor. “Tell me that didn’t happen, Scully,” he pleads. “Tell me I’m not about to go to a restaurant and sit across a table after she’s had an eyeful of my ass.” Scully shakes her head and stands, retrieving her jeans from next to the couch.

“Sorry, Mulder, there’s no way out of this one,” she tells him.

“Well,” he says, climbing to his feet and doing up his fly, “at least it was worth it, right?” Scully fixes him with a look.

“We’ll see if you’re still saying that in an hour, after she’s finished grilling you about your intentions,” she says, and Mulder pales. “But for me?” She grins. “Definitely worth it.”


End file.
